


First Duty

by SaraNoH



Series: Nadiaverse [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Secrets, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Memory Alteration, Red Room, nadiaverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraNoH/pseuds/SaraNoH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a soldier, Steve Rogers constantly faces a debate: which is more important--duty or family?  Never before has he had any issue with putting family first, but when secrets are revealed during a time that is supposed to be exciting for his family, fidelity is tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to play with Marvel canon a bit. It takes place six-and-a-half years after the events in The Avengers. There was no HYDRA infiltration, Natasha's history with the Red Room and the Winter Soldier will be changed, etc. 
> 
> This story is another in the series known as The Nadiaverse. It is not required that you read things like Wishes and Nightmares and What We Become beforehand, but it's a good idea.
> 
> Thank you to my readers who have patiently waited for me to start this off. I regret that as of right now I can only do monthly updates, but I'll do my very best to ensure their quality.
> 
> And, as always, thanks to the_wordbutler for being my cheerleader and word-scrubber.

“No, Daddy, that’s wrong.”

Nadia put her hands down from above her head and moved from Steve’s left side to stand in front of him. The four-year-old then wrapped her arms around his right calf and grunted as she pulled his foot forward into the correct place for third position. “It goes there,” she said, giving him a stern look.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, fighting a grin, “I’ll try and get it right next time.”

He got a weary sigh in response.

Steve knew third position. He knew all five positions to put your feet in for ballet; he’d picked it up from the showgirls he toured the country with decades ago. But his daughter didn’t need to know that. He was quite happy playing the dumb student, at least until Nadia’s temper flared, but Steve knew what warning signs to look for when it came to that.

Nadia settled back into her place at his side and looked up, ever-serious expression on her little face. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded and then began to count. “And one, and two. Three and four--”

Steve kept his feet moving even as he heard the front door unlock and saw Natasha walk through. But as soon as his eyes fell on her face, he froze. She caught his gaze and gave the barest of nods and suddenly, the room seemed to tilt on its axis.

“You’re sure?” he asked. Natasha nodded again. To the untrained eye, the action was more confident, but Steve saw the chinks in the armor and easily read her nerves.

“Daddy, you’re not paying attention,” Nadia groused at his side.

“Sorry, Bug, give me just a second,” he said, eyes staying on Natasha. He crossed the expanse of the living room in few rushed steps. “Really?” he asked quietly.

Natasha nodded once more. “Ran the test three times. All positive.”

He felt his face threaten to break with the grin that spread across it. Despite the excitement that had exploded within him, he made sure his movements to grab hold of and hug his wife were gentle.

“I’m not going to break,” she whispered in his ear.

Theoretically he knew that, and she’d repeated it enough to him since taking Frigga’s pill a couple of weeks ago for it to be embedded in his mind. But Steve also clearly remembered her third trimester the last time, which made him pull away and ask, “How are you feeling?”

She gave him a single-shoulder shrug. “Fine. I honestly just went for my annual check-up. Didn’t think they would find this. Certainly not this soon.”

He nodded. “It did happen faster than I thought it would.”

“True, but since when do we ever take things slowly?” she asked while smiling coyly at him.

He laughed and leaned down to kiss her. While they hadn’t taken some things slowly—Steve agreeing to raise Natasha’s baby with her, jumping into a marriage that had felt more like a business deal than love—other things and emotions had taken time to fall into place over the last five years. 

Natasha sighed against his lips before deepening the contact. The two of them only broke apart when Nadia loudly faked clearing her throat behind him. “Ah-hem.”

Natasha pulled away and leaned around his broad frame. “Who taught you that?”

“Unc—I mean, no one.”

“Are you lying to your mother?” Steve asked without turning around.

“It was Uncle Tony,” Nadia answered, and without looking behind him, he could picture her with her face turned to the ground out of guilt for ratting out one of her beloved uncles.

“Uncle Tony is rude; don’t do what he does,” Natasha reprimanded before walking around Steve to move towards their daughter. “Did you teach Daddy your routine yet?”

“No, he still doesn’t know third position,” Nadia replied, giving Steve a look that clearly read _you should be better at this_.

“Oh, really?” Natasha answered. ”Whenever he dances with me, he knows lots and lots of positions really well.”

“Tasha,” Steve warned.

Nadia’s face scrunched up in confusion. ”I thought there only five positions when you dance.”

“There are,” Steve answered, a hint of sterness in his voice. Natasha shot him a smug look, and he shook his head. “It’s me they call when she starts unknowingly speaking in innuendos at preschool, not you. Don’t make my conversations with her teachers any worse.”

“They call you because they’re female and you look like you do.” Natasha turned back to Nadia. “I just saw Uncle Bruce. He said if you wanted to go down for a tea party in his lab, you could.”

The little girl practically vibrated in excitement. ”Really?” she said in a quiet, hopeful voice.

Natasha nodded. “Just be careful with his things.”

“Can I go right now?”

Natasha pointed at the tablet resting on the coffee table. “Let’s find out.”

Nadia brought it over, and Natasha held it out to face her. With young yet skillful fingers, the child punched in the series of keystrokes needed to open a chat with Bruce down in his lab.

“Hey, Nadia,” Bruce greeted.

“Hi, Uncle Bruce,” she responded.

“You want to come down and have some tea with me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Please,” Steve muttered.

“Yes, please,” Nadia restated.

Bruce grinned at her. “Go get ready and I’ll be up there in a minute to come and get you.”

“Okay!” she replied excitedly before bounding off to her room to put on the child’s sized lab coat and goggles she wore religiously whenever visiting Bruce’s lab (and sometimes Tony’s workshop).

Steve leaned into frame. ”One day, she’ll learn how to hang up a phone call instead of just running away.”

Bruce chuckled. “It’s fine. Is she okay to have cookies? I picked up a few too many when I went out for lunch today.”

“Sure,” Natasha answered, her tone making it clear that she didn’t believe Bruce completely. 

Bruce raised his eyebrows in Natasha’s direction, and she gave a small nod. The scientist then turned to Steve with a shy smile. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Steve answered, returning the grin.

“Did you win a contest?” Nadia asked as she came back into the room clad in her lab gear.

“What?” Natasha asked.

“Uncle Bruce said ‘congratulations.’ Did you win a contest, Daddy?”

Steve scooped her up and held her against him. “I won The Luckiest Dad in the World Contest,” he answered.

The goggles only exaggerated the four-year-old’s eye roll. “You’re silly.”

“Yes, I am,” he answered, placing a kiss on each of her cheeks. “You ready?” he asked.

“Can I go down on my own? Please, Daddy?” She even pouted her bottom lip to give the full effect in attempting to play her father.

“No,” Natasha answered. “You know the rules. You can only ride the elevator by yourself to the apartments. Not to the labs or outside.”

“Fine,” Nadia replied in an exasperated tone.

“I’ll leave right now and be up there in a second,” Bruce told her, chat still active on the tablet. That earned him a smile from his pseudo-niece. 

Once Bruce came and collected Nadia and told Steve and Natasha that they’d be back in a couple of hours, Steve moved to hold his wife in his arms once more. “How are you?”

“I told you, I feel fine.”

“How are you?” he repeated. 

He felt her give slightly in his grasp. ”I’m terrified.”

“Glad I’m not the only one.”

She pulled away enough to meet his eye. “Are we still sure we should we have another one?” It’d been a discussion they’d danced around for a year after Frigga had given Natasha pill that would render her fertile for a limited amount of time. Unlike Loki’s spell that had created Nadia, this magic apparently wouldn’t be detrimental to Natasha’s health. Sometimes, Steve could almost believe that idea.

“I think it’s a little late to ask,” he answered. “We apparently should’ve had this conversation... How far along are you?”

“Bruce guessed four-and-a-half weeks. Which means the kid’s due the first week of July.”

“I swear I wasn’t trying to give myself a birthday present,” Steve said while trying to bite down on a smile. “So when did it happen exactly? Could you tell by the test results?”

Natasha nodded. “On the way back from that thing in Mexico City, apparently about thirty seconds after I took the damn pill.”

Steve felt the corners of his mouth tug up in another grin. “If the kid ever asks, we’re lying instead of telling them they were conceived in my ready room on the Quinjet, right?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per usual thanks to the delightful **the-wordbutler** for making me a better writer.
> 
> Welcome to the first substantial chapter of First Duty. Hope you enjoy.

Steve hated hostage situations. They twisted his gut in a way few other things could. He figured it tied back to Bucky and the rest of the 107th needing rescued from Zola and his crew. And it wasn’t like Steve’s gut wasn’t twisted up enough as it was. He’d hardly slept at all the night before because his mind was already racing with thoughts of Natasha’s pregnancy. Would this spell actually work? Would she and the baby stay safe? Would he inadvertently love this child more than Nadia since it was half his? Did his heart have room for someone else?

Around three in the morning, Natasha had elbowed him in the side. “I can hear you thinking,” she’d said groggily. “Shut up so we can both get some sleep.”

He’d followed her orders, but Phil had buzzed through on his phone ninety minutes later to tell them they had a situation. It was in Moscow where some old man had forced his way into a school. His sole demand was repeated over and over again in his native Russian: “I want the Widow.”

The first time it had carried through the Quinjet’s comms, all the occupants on board—Steve, Phil, and Clint—had frozen. All three men spoke Russian with varying degrees of fluency, but they all knew what those four words meant.

Natasha had stepped down from active duty a few weeks ago after taking Frigga’s pill. Steve had convinced her that they only had one shot at having another kid and they shouldn’t risk having Natasha in combat situations while waiting for a positive pregnancy test. That was too risky, and she needed to step away from seeing direct action situations until, hopefully, after their child was born.

When the demand came over the comm, Steve looked at Phil. “Should we call Tasha?”

The handler shook his head. “Not unless we have to. You know her—she’ll hijack a jet and fly to Russia.”

“She’s gonna be pissed,” Clint warned from the pilot seat.

“Then she can be pissed at me,” Phil said in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t going to budge.

Steve was grateful for that. While things might go smoother if the old man’s demand was met, he wasn’t about to risk it. They formulated their plan en route: Steve would approach from the front and attempt to appear as a go-between for Natasha and the old man, Clint would sneak in through a side door and try to get as many civilians out as he could unnoticed, and Phil would monitor from outside with the Russian forces that were already on the ground. Phil probably had the most difficult job of the three. The situation wouldn’t ordinarily catch S.H.I.E.L.D.’s attention, let alone the Avengers’, but the demand for Natasha had escalated things quickly. And the Russians were bound to be incredibly unhappy and insulted to have outsiders come in and clean up their mess.

There were already a number of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on the ground, but they were having a hard time convincing the Russians that they were on the same side. In the few hours it took to get to Moscow, there hadn’t been any new information. They’d studied the blueprint of the school building, made plans for entry and escape, but the rest was just going to have to be done on the fly.

Steve could hear Natasha making fun of the discomfort of “the man with a plan” having to fly blind. He already missed having her beside him during times like this.

Clint set the Quinjet down a kilometer from the school, not wanting to make their presence completely obvious to the gunman just yet. He did a final check on his comms and gear before setting off. Steve and Phil locked down the Quinjet before they, too, made their way toward the school.

Phil wished him luck and double-checked his comms before breaking off to join the mobile command unit. Steve checked in with the officer in charge. Thanks to Natasha wanting Nadia to be fluent in Russian as well as English, Steve had also picked up the Slavic language. He had a feeling that was going to come in handy today.

The officer standing near the door, Zharkov, filled him in on the details. The school only had a couple hundred people in it when the gunman came in. Some were able to escape, but everyone else was inside the large, windowless room that served as a cafeteria. Three people in the office were shot—one fatally—but as far as they knew, everyone else was okay. “He won’t give us any other demands,” Zharkov said in his native tongue. “Just that he wants the Widow. She with you?”

“ _Nyet_ ,” Steve answered. He adjusted his grip on his shield, double-checked his pistol, and made his way to through the front entrance to the school. Thankfully, the office had been cleared. Steve didn’t need the image of another fallen body burned into his near-perfect memory. He’d seen enough needless death to last him several life times.

He moved through the office and out into the hall. Occasionally, a student’s piece of art decorated the walls, and Steve’s stomach twisted at the thought of his daughter being among the too-young hostages in the school cafeteria. Natasha may have been on to something the number of times she’d complained that parents shouldn’t be superheroes.

Steve took a deep breath and cleared his thoughts. As he did so, Phil spoke in his right ear. “Take a left at the next corner, Cap. Cafeteria will be on your right.”

“Roger that,” he replied. He didn’t ask about Clint’s progress. After fighting together for six years, Steve had absolute trust in each of his teammates when it came to missions and combat situations. Even Tony.

Steve pressed his body against the wall and listened. The room inside was silent, and his heart broke at the thought of how terrified the kids must be in order to stay that quiet. The gunman—Steve still hadn’t heard that he had been identified—must’ve been tipped that Steve was outside, because he bellowed, “I want the Widow.”

Steve slowly opened the door. He put down his shield and gun and raised his hands in the air. The occupants of the room were all huddled together on the floor, some crying silently, some looking woefully lost, and some staring off in a manner indicative of shock. Steve was able to take one step forward before the gunman—standing in the center of the room—tightened his grip on a terrified teacher. For someone who looked to be about eighty, he had impressive strength. He also had a gun in his right hand that was pressed against the teacher’s temple.

“She’s not here, but she’s in my ear,” he lied in Russian while tapping his comms. “You know who I am and what my relationship is to her.” One of the kids nearby whispered the word _husband_ and Steve broke his eye contact with the gunman for a half-second to give the kid a reassuring smile. “Anything you tell me,” Steve continued, “she’ll hear.”

The gunman eyed him for a second before speaking. “I have to bring her in,” he said. “She disobeyed orders.”

“Whose orders?” Steve asked.

“Petrovich,” the man answered. 

Phil’s voice ran in his ear. “That’s the KGB agent who ran the Red Room.” While Steve had never pressed Natasha for information about her time in training or serving the Soviet Union and never sought out the information in her files for himself, he knew enough for his body to go cold.

“The Widow says she knows Petrovich,” Steve said. “But she doesn’t know you or what orders you’re talking about.”

The man’s face hardened at his integrity and power being called into question. “Her orders were to stay at the base. She was not to run off, certainly not with one of our assets. She must pay.”

Steve felt his own temper flare at the threat against Natasha. He would be the first to describe the many ways his wife could fend for herself, but it didn’t mean that he enjoyed listening to her being threatened. “You didn’t tell me who you are,” Steve said. As he did, he caught a shadow moving in the open ceiling. The rest of the building must have been empty if Clint was in here to assist with the takedown. “She can’t know that the orders are legit until she knows who you are.”

The man rolled his lips, clearly unwilling to give up too much information and making Steve wonder for the umpteenth time why he devoted his life to working for an intelligence agency. “She knows me as Anatoly. And,” he continued while using his free hand to pull back his overcoat to reveal a series of bombs strapped to his chest, “tell your man in the ceiling to drop.”

Steve wondered if he was going to have to translate the words into English, but Clint obediently jumped gracefully to the ground, removed his quiver, and sat it and his bow on the floor before slowly raising his hands. Around them, small children fidgeted and whined in fear, and Steve wanted this to be over as soon as possible. 

Clint had the same mindset. “I don’t know about Cap here, but I think a couple of Avengers make better hostages than a bunch of scared kids.” He looked back over his shoulder at Steve. “Don’t you think so?”

Steve prepared to translate the comment into Russian for Anatoly, but the man was already clearly weighing his options. He nodded and Steve alerted Phil over the comms about the hostage exchange before sending up a silent prayer that Natasha wouldn’t hear about this on the news. Not that she’d necessarily be worried (maybe a little), but more for the endless amount of crap she’d give Steve and Clint for being heroic idiots.

Slowly, the children and school staff were allowed to file out of the cafeteria, leaving only Anatoly, Clint, and Steve. “Now what?” Clint asked.

“I want the Widow,” Anatoly repeated.

“You told him that wasn’t going to happen, right?” Clint asked Steve, who nodded. 

Anatoly looked at Steve incredulously. “You said she could hear us.”

“She can,” Steve lied again.

“Then I demand to speak with her.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Steve replied firmly.

The old man made a motion to show off the detonator in his hand, and Steve inwardly cringed at the dead man’s switch set up. “I can still blow this up. There’s enough here to still hurt all the children who haven’t been able to get very far yet.”

Steve knew he was right; the man had enough explosive power strapped to his torso to take out a city block or two. It was a little bit of overkill and not necessarily like the KGB—or what remained of it—to make such a showy statement. It made Steve wonder just how much sanity Anatoly had left and if he even knew Natasha to begin with.

Clint, on the other hand, snorted. “It’s cute how you think we’ve never been blown up before.” Anatoly sneered and started to say something in return, but Clint cut him off. “Whatever your deal is with the Widow, you aren’t going to get to her. Certainly not through the two of us.”

“She cost us one of our most valued assets,” Anatoly argued.

“You can’t really expect us to be upset about that,” Clint said. “Especially when we know what all you did to her.”

“It was an honor for her to be chosen,” Anatoly challenged. “She was among the elite.”

Clint ground his jaw and sent a pleading look to Steve, but he shook his head. As much as he empathized with Clint’s need to knock the guy around a bit, there was too much at risk. Who knew how many people were outside and within the blast radius? And while Steve and Clint had survived a number of explosions before, this one didn’t look to be in their favor. The last thing Steve needed was die within a week of finding out he was going to be a father. He didn’t want Natasha to be a single mother like Sarah Rogers had been, even though Steve had zero doubts about her pulling it off. 

A small part of his mind wondered, not for the first time in his life, if his father even knew about him. Were his last moments in battle spent in worry about how he’d never get to meet his kid? Was Steve doomed to repeat that fate? 

Steve heard the noise before he saw the shadow; he remained stock still regardless. He was pretty sure the other two hadn’t heard or seen anything. Maybe Clint had if his hearing aids were set on the “super-bat-hearing” setting Tony had developed.

The next thing either of them knew, Anatoly was falling to the ground. Both Clint and Steve rushed forward to do who-knew-what to prevent a disaster, but no blast ever came. Steve looked at the side of the old man’s neck and saw a tell-tale purple mark there—a night-night shot. Tony’d mocked the name created by a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists endlessly since it was developed a few years back, but Steve preferred it to a traditional bullet.

A pair of boots hit the ground and Clint and Steve watched as a dark-skinned man with a bald head and neatly trimmed beard approached. “Of course this idiot had to hole up in here,” the newcomer groused while checking the safety on his rifle. “Only damn room in the entire building with its own ventilation system and no windows. Guy knew what he was doing.”

Clint nodded. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem,” he answered before nodding towards the unconscious Anatoly. “The dendrotoxin solution had an extra paralytic kick to it to make his hand cramp up on the switch. Didn’t want it blowin’ on you guys.”

Steve thanked him and gave him a hard look. “You’re Jones’s grandson, right?”

The man smiled shyly and extended his hand. “Antoine Triplett.”

“Gabe would be very proud of you.”

“He always spoke very highly of you, Captain Rogers.”

Things dissolved back into normalcy relatively quickly after that, as most situations the Avengers were called out on did. It always reminded Steve about that line of the world ending not with a bang but a whimper. The three agents stood guard over Anatoly until a pair of demolitions experts came in—one from S.H.I.E.L.D. and one supplied by the Russian forces. Together, the men disabled the explosives and carted them off for analysis. Steve, Clint, and Agent Triplett secured Anatoly before carrying him out of the building and to a S.H.I.E.L.D. armored van that was waiting at the dock entrance to the school.

Phil met them there and with an annoyed look on his face. “The Russians wanted him and didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

“You know who he is?” Steve asked. 

Phil shook his head. “We don’t have much on the Red Room, not that’s there’s a lot out there to begin with, but our searches haven’t come up with anyone by the name of Anatoly. We’re going to keep looking, and we’re going to interview him when he comes to.”

They all traveled to the local S.H.I.E.L.D. station in Moscow. Steve and Clint debriefed with Phil and started in on their after action reports while they all waited for Anatoly, now secured in a holding cell, to wake up.

“Sure they didn’t overdo the dosage?” Clint asked while they watched the video feed of the old man sleeping.

Phil shot him a look to keep his comments to himself, and Steve excused himself to step out. Doing some quick math in his head, he knew it was around noon in New York. Hard to believe he’d been gone for less than ten hours with all his day had encompassed, but it was true. He pulled up his recent call list and tapped on Natasha’s cell phone number. It rang four times before going to voicemail, and Steve frowned. He didn’t remember her being in any important meetings today, and it wasn’t like her to ignore a call from him when he was out on an op. 

He found a quiet corner to hole up in while finishing his reports and checking in on alerts from around the globe and any updates about preexisting situations S.H.I.E.L.D. was monitoring. About twenty minutes later, Natasha called him back. “Hey,” she greeted weakly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nausea kicked in right after you left,” she said. “I haven’t missed this.”

“As bad as the last time?” Steve asked, remembering how certain foods were off limits during her first trimester with Nadia.

“Worse,” Natasha answered. Steve rolled his lips and pulled up the video feed on Anatonly’s cell—the man was still asleep. “Don’t come home,” she told him, reading his thoughts. “Nadia’s at daycare for a few more hours, I’m holed up in bed pretending to work from home, and Bruce is out gathering anything ginger-based he can find for me to try. We’re fine.”

“Call the McCoys if you need to, or have Pepper take her for the night if you need to rest,” Steve suggested. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Eaten? Yes. Kept it down? Not a chance in hell.”

He checked his watch. “I can be home in a few hours.”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned. “I got knocked on my ass this morning. I’ll be better tomorrow. Besides, I did this part on my own last time. I can survive with you gone for a few days. 

“You didn’t have a clingy four-year-old around you the last time,” Steve pointed out.

“We’ll be fine,” Natasha repeated. “Just get your stuff done and come home.”

He disconnected the phone call and tried to refocus on his report. He hadn’t intended to bring up the Anatoly connection to Natasha on the phone, and certainly not now if she wasn’t feeling well. He hated that she was sick, not only because it meant she wasn’t feeling well but because it brought up horrible memories from her last pregnancy. He tried to reassure himself that this time wouldn’t be like that, but it didn’t necessarily work.

Steve buried himself in work to shove nastier thoughts out of his mind, and a couple of hours later, Phil came in and dumped a pile of files onto the table. “This is what we were allowed to have by Russian Intelligence. Comb through it and see if you recognize any mention of an Anatoly or if you see his face in any of the pictures.”

“He mentioned something about an asset,” Steve commented as he pulled the first stack of folders toward him. “Any idea what he was talking about?”

“Asset?” Phil asked looking confused. 

“Said Natasha made off with one of their assets and had to be punished for it. Petrovich’s orders.”

The handler’s face creased in thought. “Petrovich ran the Red Room program; he was the one who found Natasha.”

“That much I did know.”

“As for assets…” His voice trailed off as he considered possibilities. “No way to know exactly what he was talking about. Could’ve been an informant, a weapon, who knows. There was a gap between Natasha leaving them and coming to us. Who knows what all she did in between.”

“Fury didn’t press her about it when she defected?” Steve asked.

“She came to us to survive, not because she wanted to switch sides. She wasn’t really keen on divulging any secrets she didn’t have to. And once she proved she was loyal, we didn’t really push her on things,” Phil answered. “You talk to her?”

“Not about this. Called, but her morning sickness is in full swing and I didn’t want to bring this up.”

Phil nodded. “We’ll wait for Anatoly to wake up, question him to our liking, and then turn him over to the Russians before we head back home. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

It took four. Anatoly was resistant, and as soon as they started making headway on day three, he slammed the side of his face against the metal table he was sitting at to release cyanide tablet embedded in his cheek. They tried to get him to the medical unit to have the poison removed from his body, but he was dead eight hours later.

During the entire three days he remained adamant that he was working for Petrovich, even though Steve hadn’t found any mention of someone by the name Anatoly in the files Phil had given him. None of the faces matched the de-aged version of the supposed Red Room associate the computer had spit out for comparison purposes. It was a four-day stretch of dead ends.

But still, to accomplish all he did and to even know the name Petrovich, Anatoly had to have some background in intelligence or the military. S.H.I.E.L.D. had restrictions on interrogation protocols, but they could still run harsh, especially on a senior citizen. Nevertheless, the man hadn’t come to close to cracking. Clint reasoned he used his cyanide tablet because he was bored with the whole thing and insulted by it.

The flight home was quiet. Steve used the time to catch up on sleep. He’d only exchanged texts with Natasha over the last few days. She’d said that her nausea was still a nuisance but that she had things under control. Steve had a feeling that wasn’t the whole truth, but he knew if he asked Bruce or Pepper to check in on her, he’d catch hell for it. No one else in the Tower had contacted him to alert him to Natasha being extremely under the weather or of her needing someone to watch Nadia for a bit, so Steve left things alone.

He shouldn’t have.

“Daddy!” the shout came from the hallway off Nadia’s bedroom as Steve walked into their apartment. “Mama’s upchucking again!”

“Dammit, Clint,” Steve swore under his breath, taking the name of the person who taught his daughter that term in vain. He turned the corner to find Nadia—dressed in her rain boots, pirate pants from last week’s Halloween costume, frog pajama t-shirt, and fairy wings—standing in the doorway of her bedroom and pointing at the bathroom across the hall.

Natasha was hunched over the toilet losing what little she’d probably been able to eat during the day. Steve knelt down to help hold her long hair out of the way. He’d half expected to find out she’d chopped it all off again; she’d threatened to do it because of this very reason.

Once her stomach stopped betraying her, Natasha rolled back on her haunches. She lacked her usual control and slammed her back into the wall behind her, a faint whimper escaping her as she settled into a sitting position. Steve grabbed a little paper cup and was about to fill it with water when he heard Natasha softly tell him to stop. “I’ll just puke it up,” she explained.

Nadia wrapped herself around his leg. “Daddy, I missed you! And I’m bored,” she exclaimed. 

“Go play, Bug.”

“I was playing. Mama promised to play with me today, but she’s sick again. So now I’m bored. Will you play with me?”

He wanted to badly. He’d been worried about his family for the last four days, had barely slept at all, and desperately missed being home. He really wanted nothing more than to have a tea party or a painting session with Nadia, but Natasha was his priority at the moment. She looked thinner and paler than when he’d left her, and that sight set in his stomach like a chunk of ice. It was hard not to let his mind run wild with dark memories and darker possibilities. It was even harder now when Natasha’d been sitting on the bathroom floor for a solid minute without opening her eyes or trying to appear strong and healthy in front of him and their daughter.

“Nadia, I promise that I would love to play with you. I’ve missed you so much it hurts, but I need to help Mama right now, okay?”

“But what am I supposed to do?” Nadia whined.

“Can you go play in your room for a little bit? Or do you want to watch a movie?”

“I’ll go play,” she said with a weariness so heavy one might think she’d just been handed down a life sentence. The four-year-old turned and trudged into her room, an obvious show of her disappointment that neither of her parents could entertain her at the moment.

Steve would take care of that later; right now, he had more pressing needs. He knelt back down beside Natasha. “Has it been this bad the whole time I’ve been gone?”

She barely nodded her head. “Getting worse. I’ve had something to distract her with until today. Darcy was here the first couple of days, but she left with Jane and Thor to go back to Asgard. Pre-school and daycare took care of yesterday, but it’s a Saturday and she wanted to be here when you got home, so I didn’t call the McCoys.”

Steve nodded as he fiddled with his wedding band. “Do you want me to call McClellan?” he asked after a moment of debating how much worry was the appropriate amount.

Whatever that amount was in his mind, it tripled in size when Natasha immediately nodded her answer.

“JARVIS?” Steve called toward the ceiling.

“I have alerted Doctor McClellan of Agent Romanoff’s condition, Captain. She said that she will meet you in the Stark Tower medical ward in ten minutes,” the AI answered. If Steve stopped to think about it, he thought he would’ve heard a bit of relief in the AI’s voice, as if he’d had to watch all of this go down while not being allowed to call in for reinforcements. “Agent Barton is the most likely candidate in the building to watch over Miss Rogers at the moment; shall I notify him that you will be needing his assistance? Or would you like me to contact someone else?”

“Clint’ll be fine, thank you,” Steve replied. He felt a little bad for pushing an energetic little girl onto Clint, who’d just flown them all back from Moscow, but he’d make it up to the man later. Steve turned his attention back to Natasha. “Can you walk?”

“At least to the elevator. I don’t want to scare her. Or Clint.”

“Okay,” he answered while gently helping her off the floor. Once he sure she could stand and lean against the sink without falling, he went across the hall to Nadia’s bedroom. She was on her bed reading a book. 

“Daddy!” she squealed as she jumped off of her bed and into Steve’s arms. Judging from her outfit and her boundless energy, Steve was pretty sure Natasha had let her do and eat whatever she wanted just to keep her out of her hair. “Do we get to play now?”

Steve held her close and kissed her head. “Not yet. I need to take Mama to the doctor, so Uncle Clint is going to come watch you. Promise to be good?”

“Promise,” she agreed while holding out her pinky.

Steve completed the traditional pinky swear before squeezing her in another hug. “Missed you,” he whispered into her hair.

“Missed you, too,” she whispered back before she heard Clint announce his presence in the living room. Then, she was squirming out of Steve’s arms to go see one of her beloved uncles.

“Nice to know where I stand,” he muttered to himself. 

Nadia pulled Clint towards her bedroom, which meant he was able to look into the bathroom to see Natasha standing there. Steve watched Clint’s face tighten in fear when he caught sight of her, but she was trying to give off the air of being somewhat healthy and okay. “Morning sickness is getting the better of me,” she explained. “We’re going to see McClellan. You okay with her?”

“Of course,” he answered.

“Am I going to get sick, Mama?” Nadia asked. 

“No, Bug,” Steve answered. “Mama can’t give you what she has.” Nadia sighed dramatically in relief. Steve boosted her up and held her towards Natasha. “Kiss her bye—gently.” She did so, and Steve pulled her against him for another hug. “We’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” she answered before climbing down and listing all the things she wanted to do with Clint.

Clint, however, kept looking back and forth between Natasha and Steve. “I’ve got her,” Steve promised, and he reluctantly nodded.

Slowly, Steve walked Natasha out of the apartment. Once they were in the elevator, he told himself that he’d pulled Natasha against his side before she kind of collapsed there. The ride down to the medical floor was short; a nurse was waiting for them with a wheelchair to take them back to the room set up as a labor and delivery room when Nadia was born. As far as Steve knew, it’d been collecting dust since then.

A few minutes after he helped Natasha get settled into bed, Doctor Nancy McClellan entered the room. She was Natasha’s obstetrician for her previous pregnancy, and this was the first time they’d seen her in a couple of years. “Funny,” she commented while looking at Natasha’s chart on her tablet. “This says you should still be sterile.”

“You didn’t tell her about the pill?” Steve asked his wife.

“No, she didn’t,” the doctor answered. “Perhaps you would like to fill me in on things.”

Steve retold the story about how when they visited Asgard for Jane and Thor’s wedding last year that Frigga had given them a pill that would make Natasha fertile. “She said it was a different type of magic that was used for when we had Nadia and that it shouldn’t be as hard on her as last time,” Steve said.

McClellan looked poignantly at Natasha—who was curled up in bed with her eyes closed—before looking back at Steve. “We’ll see about that,” the doctor said.

“Her nausea wasn’t this bad last time,” Steve commented. “What’s wrong?”

“Probably a bad case of hyperemesis gravidum—extreme morning sickness,” the doctor answered. “We don’t really know what causes it exactly, but we’ll give her some fluids, electrolytes, anti-nausea medication, and a sedative so she can get some rest. We’ll keep her for observation for a day or two then let her rest at home once I’m comfortable with it.” She paused to place a hand on Natasha’s upper arm. “When you can’t keep food down—or, you know, you’re pregnant—you need to tell me.”

“I was going to call,” Natasha murmured into her pillow.

“Mmhmm,” McClellan responded.

“You don’t know what’s causing this?” Steve asked. “There’s nothing we can watch out for to prevent it?”

“Leading theories are an increase in hormones, which might indicate there’s more than one bun in the oven.”

That comment caused Natasha’s eyes to open as she shot a dark look at Steve. He raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “I only want one.”

“We’ll do an ultrasound to confirm numbers,” McClellan said while typing things into her tablet. “And compared to last time, I’d rather have too high levels than barely enough to skate by. I’ll give you some recommendations on diet, but mostly you’re just going to rest and get some nutrients and fluids in your system. The nurse will be in here in a second to get you hooked up on an IV. Try not to withhold any information from her, too.” She caught Steve’s eye and jerked her head toward the door.

Steve told Natasha he’d be right back and followed the doctor into the hall. “It’s not going to be like this the whole pregnancy, is it?” he asked as he shut the door behind him.

“Hopefully not this bad, but she might have some form of nausea for a while. Tell me more about this pill.”

“It was red,” he said with a shrug. “Kind of glowy. I don’t know what all went into it. Frigga swore up and down that it would Natasha be able to conceive and have a healthy pregnancy.”

“Thor around?” McClellan asked.

Steve shook his head. “Left a few days ago for Asgard, not that he’d be able to tell you anything about it really.”

McClellan swore under her breath. “You guys know I’m a good doctor, right? I’m a great doctor, in fact. Incredibly knowledgeable and capable, and then you two show up to throw this magic crap in my face for a second time.”

“Sorry,” Steve apologized, more out of habit than anything else. “She’s going to be okay, right? And the baby? Or babies?”

“I will do everything I can to keep her and the baby safe, but that’s all I can say right now. Honestly, with the possibility of you passing on some of that super serum, it could really work in your guys’ favor.”

“Good enough,” Steve replied, even though he was entirely uneasy about the serum comment.

“Now will you guys please stop seeing Bruce Banner for everything medical? You know he’s a PhD, not a medical doctor, right?”

After an ultrasound, McClellan confirmed there was only a single embryo and that the due date was indeed on Steve’s birthday. She then left them alone to rest. Natasha grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him toward the bed. It took a moment for them to both get adjusted—on their sides, Steve loosely draping an arm around her waist to hold her against his front—with both of them in the bed and to avoid messing with any sensors or IVs. “What’d she say in the hall?” Natasha asked quietly in the dimmed light of the hospital room.

“Just wanted to know more about the pill,” he answered. “Not that I could really tell her anything about it. She was a little pissed that you went to Bruce and not her.”

“I didn’t know I was pregnant. I really just went for an annual physical,” Natasha pointed out.

“I know, but she was still a little upset about that.”

“Probably because she was more interested in Bruce than he was in her.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked while propping himself up a little.

“Remember when they tag-teamed for Nadia’s first few months of appointments?” He nodded. “I guess they went out a few times after that, but Bruce eventually turned her down to be in whatever weird set-up he has with Tony and Pepper.”

“That was four years ago,” Steve pointed out.

“If someone dumped me for Tony, I’d be pissed for a while, too.” They lay quietly for a while before Natasha said, “You didn’t tell me how Moscow went.”

“It was… I don’t know, it was weird, but it’s done.”

“What was weird about it?”

He debated talking about it, but he could see in the dark that the sedative was causing her eyelids to droop and her breathing to slow down. “It was just weird, that’s all.” He leaned over to kiss her temple. “Go to sleep.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to both my lovely readers for being patient with these updates, and to **the_wordbutler** for making them readable.

Natasha stayed in the medical ward for thirty-six hours. Steve stayed with her as much as he could, but left for an hour at a time to check in on Nadia. He artfully dodged the four-year-old’s questions on why Mama was sick and when she would get better. He and Natasha hadn’t discussed when they’d tell Nadia she was going to be a big sister, and he wasn’t about to let it slip without Natasha’s okay. 

The rest of the team knew, because, as Natasha constantly pointed out, the men on the team were huge gossips. Technically Thor hadn’t been told, but that was only because he was on Asgard resting after spending sometime in the sleep chamber Jane, Tony, and Bruce had designed to protect Earth from outside invaders.

Natasha’s release from the medical ward was dependent on a very cut and dry conversation with her doctor, Nancy McClellan. “I’d give you a pamphlet, but you’d just ignore it,” the doctor said.

“Maybe you should have snazzier pamphlets,” Natasha rebutted. 

Steve fought a sigh. “Can you please not sass the woman in charge of your medical care?” Natasha shrugged, and Steve looked at McClellan to continue. He knew his wife was stir-crazy after being laid up with morning sickness for the better part of a week and that she was already fighting fears of things that could go wrong while growing restless with a non-combat work schedule. 

The doctor handed Steve a sheet of paper. “This is a list of foods that can be helpful and some routines, like eating crackers before you get out of bed, which can help stave off nausea. I feel like out of the two of you, you’re the one who will actually put it to good use.” 

Natasha yanked the paper and began to study it. When the doctor looked at her questioningly, Natasha muttered, “I hate puking.” 

“Let’s kill two birds with one stone and save you from having to come in tomorrow for your first of the regular appointments, shall we?” McClellan said as she began to prep her files and technology. Even though the doctor had performed an ultrasound when Natasha was admitted, McClellan wanted to perform a more thorough scan, as well as the usual battery of tests. 

Steve watched from his position next to Natasha’s bed. He hadn’t been around for the early appointments she’d had for Nadia and wondered what all they’d get to see or hear, but for now it was just another picture of a blob on a screen.

“Next time we’ll try for the heartbeat,” McClellan announced as she wrapped things up. “That’ll be in four weeks. Until then, you call me if you need me.”

“Promise,” Natasha swore, and she sounded half-serious about it.

“Anything sound good?” Steve asked as they rode the elevator back up to their apartment. 

“No,” she answered, “but before you even start, I know I need to eat. Maybe just some toast.” She paused to check the time on her cell. “Nadia won’t be up for another hour, you think?”

“Probably.” And even then, it would be a struggle to get the girl out of bed. With Natasha letting her do whatever she wanted to keep her out of her hair and with Nadia spending the last day-and-a-half from mission-weary, eager-to-please uncles, Steve was fearful of the girl’s attitude. He debated whether or not to send a warning email to her preschool teachers that she was probably crashing from one of the largest sugar highs of her life, but he thought that may be taking things a step too far. “I’ll get her. You eat and take a shower.”

Sure enough, the little girl was not happy to wake up. Steve thanked Phil and Clint for watching her as he carried her down to their apartment. She tried to fall asleep against his shoulder during the thirty second trip. “C’mon,” he said as he bounced her gently. “You gotta wake up for school.”

“Don’t wanna go.”

“Sure you do. Don’t you want to see your friends?”

She pulled her head off of Steve’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “Can we just cuddle instead?” 

Nadia knew just the right button to push. Whenever he came home from being gone, he’d pull her into his arms and proclaim that he wasn’t going to let go until he stopped missing her. She’d either curl up into him or squirm in his arms, half-shouting, “I’m right here. You can’t miss me.” Steve knew today would be a morning where she would easily curl up with him for a while, and he knew those times wouldn’t last forever.

But there was also his job.

“Make you a deal,” he said. “You go to preschool, and I’ll pick you up after so you don’t have to go to daycare and we can cuddle then.” She stuck out her pinky, and he completed the sacred swear. He took a hard look at her, specifically her hair and its greasy curls. “When was the last time you had a bath?” 

Nadia shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Was it yesterday?”

“What day was yesterday?” she asked, with a puzzled look on her face.

“Did Uncle Clint or Uncle Phil give you a bath?”

“No.” She pouted her lower lip. “Do I have to take one?”

Steve sighed. He and Natasha had both hoped really hard that she would eventually get over her hatred of bath time. It had yet to happen. And this morning, Steve was more than willing to pick his battles. “I guess it can wait until after school.” 

She grinned, hugged his neck, and thanked him repeatedly until they were back in their apartment. When Nadia spotted Natasha, she clamored out of Steve’s arm and ran to hug her mother’s legs. “No more upchucking?” she asked.

“Stop saying words that Uncle Clint teaches you,” Natasha warned. “And no, I’m not better yet.”

“What’s wrong? Why couldn’t Uncle Bruce fix you?”

“Parasites take time to fix,” Natasha answered. 

Steve watched a million questions begin to bubble out of the four-year-old, and there certainly wasn’t time for that—especially when he and Natasha hadn’t discussed a game plan. “Breakfast, kiddo. Then school.”

“Daddy said I could come home after preschool today,” Nadia announced to her mother as Steve fixed her cereal. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see her adopt her serious face. “We have to have cuddle time.”

Natasha tried to hide her smile behind her mug of hot ginger whatever Bruce had found her. “Is that so?” she asked. “A family n-a-p might not be a bad idea.”

Nadia scrunched her face to try and make sense of what her mother had spelled out. She turned to Steve, who was setting down her cereal for her. “Is that bath?”

“No, but that is a thing that will happen today,” he reminded her, hoping that if she heard it enough it wouldn’t be such a battle. “Mama was just saying that it would be a good idea to have some family cuddle time.”

Nadia shook her head. “Just me and Daddy. That’s what we pinky promised.”

“Mama can cuddle, too. I’ve missed both of my girls,” Steve said. A small voice in his head reminded him that there might be three girls now in the room with him, and that was still a lot to take in. He caught Natasha’s eye and was almost sure she was thinking the same thing.

“You saw her,” Nadia argued. “You left me with Uncle Clint to see her.” 

“Okay,” Steve said, raising his hands. He didn’t need a fight right before dropping her off at preschool. And, yeah, Natasha’s idea of a nap sounded like a solid plan. “Finish your cereal so we can get you to school, please.”

He let Nadia pick out her own clothes and helped her get dressed. Thankfully her outfit selection—a teal sweater and jeans with hot pink socks —wasn’t too awful on the eyes and was wholly school appropriate. They double-checked that she had everything in her little backpack, not that four-year-olds required too many school supplies, and put on coats to face the chilled November air. 

“Phil scheduled a briefing,” Natasha announced as Steve and Nadia were getting ready to leave. 

“When?” he asked.

“Forty-five minutes.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll drop her off and head up to the conference room. You going to make it over?”

Natasha shrugged. “I’m going to stay here for as long as I can to make sure things stay down. Then I’ll leave.”

“Don’t push yourself.”

“Don’t start with telling me that,” she replied.

Steve bit back and apology and leaned in to kiss her, but Nadia yelled at him to stop. “She’s sick. You can’t kiss her on the lips or you’ll get sick, too,” Nadia pointed out. “You have to kiss her elbow. It’s the rule, Daddy.”

Natasha merely bent her elbow in the direction of Steve’s face, and he gently kissed it. “Call me if you need me,” he said.

“I’ll manage,” she responded before waving to Nadia. “Bye, baby.”

“Bye, Mama,” she replied before tugging on Steve’s hand. “C’mon, Daddy.” 

When they arrived at the preschool, he hugged Nadia goodbye and then issued a preemptive apology to her teachers. “I haven’t been home in almost a week, and Natasha has been under the weather. Sorry if she’s out of control today. If she’s too much to handle, call me and I’ll come get her.”

The teacher—Miss Michelle—smiled. “I’ll take bad attitudes over pukers any day of the week. We’ll be fine.”

Steve nodded and looked over to wave one last time to Nadia, but she was already busy setting up the toy kitchen with her best friend, Zelda. 

Once he left the childcare section of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, Steve headed up forty-five floors to his office. It was still ridiculous to think that he deserved an office, even though the space had been his for a few years. Once the Avengers Initiative seemed to be a permanent thing, the six of them plus Phil were given a floor of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York City headquarters. Not that Tony or Bruce ever used theirs since they preferred working in the labs of Stark Tower, but it was nice to have a quiet place he could retreat to for working on reports and analyzing intelligence. The floor also had a large conference room where they team did mission briefings and debriefs. Phil, Clint, and Bruce were already there when he walked in, and Steve could hear Tony talking outside of the room somewhere on the phone. That left Natasha to be the last to arrive. Steve didn’t worry too much about that. She still had five minutes before things were supposed to get started.

“Thanks again for watching Nadia,” Steve said to Clint as he slipped into his usual seat to Phil’s right. The handler, already seated in his standard place at the head of the table was thumbing his way through after-action reports for the Moscow mission. Clint was seated on his left, directly across from Steve. 

“You really don’t have to keep thanking us for the taking the kid every now and then,” Clint said. He looked around the room and scowled. “Nat didn’t come with you?”

Steve shook his head. “Wanted to make sure her breakfast stayed down. She should be here in a few minutes.”

“I got a text from McClellan,” Bruce said. “She wasn’t too happy with me for keeping the news of the pregnancy to myself. Morning sickness rough?”

“Spent the last day-and-a-half in the med ward with severe dehydration.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “She didn’t tell anyone she was sick while you all were gone.” 

Steve figured as much. “From the sound of it, she wasn’t able to keep anything down for a few days. It was bad.”

“Do I need to put some official rules in place?” Phil asked. “I can contact McClellan—“

“Good luck with that,” Natasha said as she sat in the chair on the other side of Steve. “I don’t need you all ganging up on me. I’m a big girl.”

“Who doesn’t know how to ask for help,” Bruce muttered. 

Natasha shot him a dark look. “I’m here, food is in my stomach, let’s just go.”

Steve wasn’t about to point out that she still looked queasy. He liked sleeping in his own bed. Phil, apparently, didn’t care. “Maybe you should take the day off.”

“Maybe you should get on with things,” Natasha replied.

Phil sighed and yelled for Tony to end his call and come into the meeting. “I can handle two meetings at once,” Tony said as he poked his head into the conference room, hand over his phone to block his voice. Phil merely glared, and Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, follow up with Pepper. I’ve got a thing.” He dropped down into his traditional seat next to Bruce and looked expectantly at Phil. “Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Phil replied in a deadpan tone. “Let’s talk about Moscow.” He transferred the files he was looking at on his tablet to the room’s main holo projector. Above the table, reports and faces associated with the events from six days ago hung in the air. Phil grabbed at one face in particular and swiped his fingers to enlarge it before spinning it in Natasha’s direction. “Recognize him?” 

Steve watched Natasha’s face as she studied both the current picture of the so-called Anatoly and one that depicted what he may have looked like a few decades ago. She shook her head. “No.”

“He said he was working on Petrovich’s orders,” Steve elaborated.

“Petrovich had a lot of people under him,” Natasha responded. “The operatives were limited to the number of people they interacted with. The fewer people we knew about, the fewer identities we could expose if we were captured.”

“He said his name was Anatoly,” Phil pressed.

She rolled her lips, but Steve knew she was just putting on a show. Her memory recall was almost as good as his. If she didn’t recognize him, no amount of context clues was going to change that fact. “He’s the one who held up the school,” Steve explained.

Her eyebrows knitted together. “Why?”

“He said he wanted the Widow.”

Her face hardened, and he knew he was in trouble. “And you didn’t call me why?” 

“Because you’re not allowed on combat duty, and Clint and I had the situation handled,” he responded, and if he adopted a little bit of the Cap tone of voice, then so be it. 

Natasha turned to glare at Clint, but he held his hands up in the air. “I made the point that keeping you in the dark was going to piss you off, but I was outnumbered.”

“It was my call,” Phil announced.

Natasha sighed and shook her head. “I’m pregnant, not incapacitated or dead. I still have my clearance level and—“

“You wouldn’t have even been able to help out because you weren’t letting us help you take care of yourself,” Phil finished for her. He ignored Natasha’s glare and kept going. “I’m your handler. I made the call, because that’s my job. It wasn’t a slight against you, it was me trying to protect you.”

Steve could hear the words _I don’t need protecting_ starting to bubble out of Natasha’s throat, so he placed a hand on her knee. She tensed under the contact but kept her mouth shut. “He also said something about you taking an asset with you when you left,” Steve said. “Any idea what he was talking about?”

“No,” she answered. 

But Steve knew her. Slowly, in the five years they’d been together, he’d learned his share of tells, the infinitely small tics that told him she was lying. Like she was now. He felt his eyes squint a little in her direction, but she kept her face blank as she stared back at him, almost a challenge for him to call her out on what he was pretty sure he saw.

Steve knew the basic story of Natasha’s defection to S.H.I.E.L.D. She’d managed to escape from under the thumb of the KGB, where she’d started making a name for herself, and she’d loaned her talents out to the highest bidder. She didn’t care who she was working for as long as she was free and building up enough of a savings account to stay that way. Clint had been ordered to take her out, but had brought her in instead. Phil had fallen on that sword, and Fury had reluctantly agreed to bring her onto the agency’s payroll. Steve had never pushed for any more details than that. In their time together, neither of them really ever discussed their pasts, only enough to explain why certain dates made them sad or what horrible memory fueled that night’s bad dream. 

Their pasts were literally lifetimes ago. Neither of them were keen on focusing on them; it caused too much pain for different reasons, and so Steve had never pushed. He was now regretting that decision just a little bit. 

Phil went through the rest of last week’s events. “We have people investigating his interrogation sessions and looking for more clues as to what might have caused him to do this.”

“I’d like to look at a copy,” Natasha said. “He might have used a key phrase or something you wouldn’t recognize, but I’d know.”

Phil nodded and began typing on his tablet. “I’m sending a request that they give you access to the files.”

“Thanks,” Natasha replied.

The rest of the briefing continued on normally: they analyzed recent attacks from the last six months to look for weaknesses to improve, they discussed who from Maria Hill’s nicknamed “B-team” of superheroes to swap in to temporarily replace both Thor and Natasha, and they reviewed training schedules and possible missions for the next month.

Steve half-listened as he once again wondered why Anatoly, if that was even his name, bothered with his hostage situation, and why Natasha might be lying about what all she knew. He understood there were some secrets she didn’t want to come to light, but they’d all been close enough for long enough to be okay with anything she revealed. 

And then, things went to hell.

“We’ve got a problem,” Tony announced. 

The holo screen in front of him flashed an angry red as his fingers few over the interface. He muttered something about hackers, and Natasha immediately brought up a similar screen. When she made sense of the nonsense in front of her, she swore under her breath. “What’s happening?” Phil demanded.

“Someone’s trying to break into the database,” Tony answered.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s?”

“Our personal one for the team.” 

Steve rose slowly from his chair to come stand behind Natasha. Bruce did the same with Tony, and Phil and Clint looked on their own screen. While most of the world still thought Steve couldn’t use a smart phone, he was pretty good with technology, but this level of counterstriking against an expert hacker was out of his depth. Tony and Natasha were the only ones in the room with the skill and know-how to stop it.

“What are they trying to do?” Phil asked as he eyed a progress bar at the top of all the screens. When it filled, whoever was trying to break in would have full access to the database. At the moment, it was at twenty-seven percent. “Do we know what they’re looking for?”

“Not yet,” Tony replied quickly.

Forty-two percent. 

Their personal database included Tony’s weapon and equipment designs for the team, Quinjet schematics, classified intelligence on any number of prominent people, detailed reports of high-security installations, and more. It was like a condensed version of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s series of databases, which was why Tony continuously spent hours and hours making sure it was secure.

Sixty-eight percent.

The room was silent save for Natasha and Tony speaking shorthand with each other, trying different ways to block or completely eliminate the threat. Each time they thought they were making a dent in things, the progress bar would jump ahead. 

“I think I’ve got them,” Tony muttered. But as soon as he finished his series of keystrokes, the progress bar jumped the last eighteen percent to completion. “Sonuva bitch,” Tony swore in a mixture of frustration and awe. 

“What are they taking?” Phil asked again.

Natasha squinted at her screen before shaking her head. “Nothing. They aren’t taking anything, they’re adding a file.”

“Virus of some sort?” Bruce asked.

“Dunno,” Tony replied. “I had JARVIS isolate the database from everything else as soon as the hack started, so if it is, it will stay in one spot.”

“What about our files?” Steve questioned.

“We’ve got back ups if they’re destroyed,” Natasha told him. 

Together they watched a large file slowly burrow its way into the database. Without anyone prompting it to do so, it opened.

Steve’s breath caught in his chest when the first image displayed was that of his best friend, Bucky Barnes. It was Buck’s photo that went with his service record, the one where he looked all tough and brave, but where Steve could plainly see the fear in his eyes. Below the image was the standard basic bio seen on any dossier: date of birth, height, physical appearance. The only anomaly was that Bucky’s date of death—the worst day of Steve’s life—was blocked out. 

Before he could start to try and make sense of that, Bucky and his information melted away. In their place was a series of headlines. They all described horrible events from the previous century: attacks, assassinations, bombings, fires, and more. Some of the names Steve recognized, like JFK and Howard Stark; others, he wasn’t as sure of. The next image was a map of the world with dots all over. Captions hovered each spot listing what awful deed was accomplished there. Even for Steve’s accelerated abilities, there were too many to take in at once. Then, that too faded away and was replaced by the image of a man with shaggy, dark hair and a metal arm. He was mostly dressed in dark leather, and Steve could make out a number of weapons on his person. He couldn’t get any details on his identity because there was a mask covering his face. The caption below the man’s booted feet read _Winter Soldier_. 

The image zoomed in on this Soldier’s face. First, the piece covering the mouth slowly faded away. As the darkened goggles began to do the same, the room exploded.

“Make it stop!” Phil ordered.

“Can’t,” Tony hissed as he punched at his keyboard in vain, anger and a thin note of remorse in his voice.

Natasha spun around in her chair. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “Steve, I’m so sorry.” 

The utter fear in her voice distracted him from what had been revealed on the screen. Never in the years they’d been together had he heard her so terrified. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. This Soldier had Bucky’s face. The eyes were hard and empty, but it was Bucky.

But Bucky had died when falling from the train.

Again, his service picture and dossier came up on the screen, but his picture was replaced with that of the Winter Soldier. In the line noting his death, the date _19 Dec 1982_ was mock-typed on the screen.

Following the date, the words _Killed by Natalia Romanova_ appeared. 

If there was anything else on the file, Steve missed it because his vision pinholed. His breath came too quickly, sharp inhales like when he had asthma attacks. Someone, Natasha probably, touched his arm, and he jumped from the touch like it was a hot brand. He could feel the others in the room slowly edging toward him, and his instincts took over. He ran.

Some part of his brain told him that he was taking doors off hinges when he was making his escape, but he didn’t care. He fled for the stairs, not wanting to be trapped waiting for an elevator. He jumped from landing to landing, descending over forty flights at an inhuman pace. He kept going until he reached the underground garage level. His brain kept urging him, telling him he had to get away.

_Run. Run from the liars._

But they weren’t liars. They were his family and closest friends. 

Yet they’d known all this time. They had to have. 

Phil had ordered them to stop the image.

Tony knew what was coming.

Natasha had apologized.

They knew. They’d known. 

In a haze, Steve found his bike, the one Tony swore didn’t have a tracker, but who the hell knew if that was true anymore. He revved the engine, pulled on a helmet to avoid spectators spotting him, and fled. He didn’t care where he was going. He just had to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, I'm fudging both comics and cinematic canon when it comes to Bucky's fate. I hope you don't mind too much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to **the_wordbutler** for helping me to get my words in order.
> 
> A reminder: this story deviates from MCU and comic history about what happened to Bucky. Thanks for reading.

“You okay, man?”

Steve looked up from staring at his hands to meet Sam Wilson’s eyes. Concern was evident in his friend’s face and posture. “Mind if I crash here for tonight?” he asked.

“As long as you tell me what’s going on, it’s fine,” Sam answered while maneuvering around where Steve was sitting on his stoop to unlock the front door. “You know, you have my key code. You could’ve let yourself in.”

Steve just shrugged while standing and following Sam into the house. After storming out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York headquarters, he’d hopped on his bike and fled. He hadn’t really cared where he was heading, and he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings until he was in Pennsylvania on I-95. While he could’ve driven further, he didn’t want to go too far away from Nadia, so he decided to end his road trip in D.C.

Sam Wilson was valuable to S.H.I.E.L.D. in two ways. The first was his profession as a counselor, which was how Steve first met him. A few times a year for the last few years, even though it should’ve probably been more often, Steve and Sam had gotten together for mental evaluation. It was Sam’s job to help him deal with any flashbacks or PTSD issues he suffered from. Sam’s second tie-in with the Initiative was that he was on Maria Hill’s “B team” of super heroes. Sam was an Air Force veteran who’d been part of the Falcon project. With his specialized set of wings, which had been upgraded by Tony, he helped provide aerial cover from time to time on missions.

“Sit down,” Sam ordered while pointing to a couch. Steve obeyed while Sam dumped his bag and overcoat into a chair, pulled a couple bottles of water from the fridge, and tossed one to Steve before sitting at the opposite end of the sofa. “Spill.”

Steve sighed, unsure exactly of where to start and what classified information he was able to share. He talked about the hostage situation in Moscow in a roundabout way, explaining that someone who claimed to work with Natasha believed she needed brought in because she disobeyed borders and made off with an asset. “And then this morning…” He paused to swallow hard, his brain still having trouble making sense of everything. “This morning, we were in a meeting when someone hacked into our database and left a file. It was some video package showing details on the Winter Soldier.”

“Heard of that guy,” Sam said. “Supposed to be some ghost story the intelligence community used to scare people.”

“Not a ghost story,” Steve replied. “He was my best friend.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “You knew him?”

“Not as… whatever he became, but before. Sam, it was Bucky.”  
Sam’s face turned skeptical. “You’re sure?”

Steve nodded. “I’d doubt it if it was only the video saying that, but…” He heard the panic in Phil’s voice and saw the terror in Natasha’s face. It had to be true. “It was him. And they—my team, at least some of them—have known for a while and they never told me.” 

Sam squinted, the skeptical expression he often took on during some of their talks. “Are you sure? Sounds like you had a big day. You might be reading into things.”

Steve shook his head. “The video had this big, dramatic reveal at the end where it slowly morphed the image of this Winter Soldier into Bucky. Before he was recognizable, Phil was shouting to have it shut down and Natasha was apologizing to me.”

“Natasha knew?” Sam asked quietly.

Steve swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. “She’s listed on his file as the person who killed him.” 

Sam leaned back against the arm of the couch while he digested that. “Man, I don’t want to belittle what you’re going through, but there are a lot of things you might not know for sure.” 

Steve felt his temper threaten to boil over at the statement, but the rational part of his brain knew it was true. He didn’t know exactly how Natasha was linked to Bucky’s death, even though his brain had tried to churn out myriad scenarios on how things could have played out. “All I know is, I thought I watched my best friend die, but he managed to live and I didn’t do anything about it.” 

“Steve,” Sam said gently, “you didn’t know. You couldn’t have known. Didn’t you say he fell from a train to a valley hundreds of feet below? No one would’ve been able to survive that.”

“Apparently he did.” Steve’s memory flashed back to finding Bucky strapped to Zola’s examination table. There’d been a couple of times after that where Bucky’d been hurt and should’ve been in a worse condition, or he’d healed from some injury quickly, but since it wasn’t nearly as fast as Steve’s own healing factors, no one’d really thought about it. They’d just mocked his best friend with the nickname Lucky Bucky, which he’d hated. 

Had Zola tried to give him some sort of the serum? Is that how he’d survived? And why hadn’t Steve noticed? Why hadn’t he demanded Phillips or someone retrieve Bucky’s body? Would they have found him in time to save him from being turned into this Winter Soldier? 

“I’m going to have to give you the ‘it’s not your fault’ speech a lot, aren’t I?” Sam asked. Steve didn’t answer, just scrubbed his hands over his face in a failed attempt to get his brain to shut off. “I’m going to order pizza,” Sam announced. “How many do I need to order for your bottomless pit?”  
“One’s fine,” Steve answered. “You wouldn’t happen to have any Asgardian Mead, would you?”

“That shit Thor drinks on his homeworld? Dude, that stuff sounds lethal.”

“It’s the only thing that gets me drunk,” Steve replied.

“How badly do you need to feel like you need to be drunk right now?” Sam questioned, his counselor tone drifting back into his voice. 

“Can I crash here tonight?” he asked instead of answering.

Sam thought it over for a second. “Do they know where you are? I don’t want an angry redhead storming my door at three in the morning. Because, man, you can stay here as long as you want, but I do not want to piss off your wife.”

“She’s pregnant,” Steve said quietly. “My wife, who killed my best friend, is pregnant with my kid.”

“Shit,” Sam muttered under his breath. 

Steve nodded. “It’s the one thing I keep coming back to.” They stayed in silence for a few moments before Steve pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table. “I told JARVIS that they could track where I end up for the night, but I only wanted calls and messages put through if something happened to Nadia or if Natasha was sick again.”

“Again?” Sam asked.

“Morning sickness,” Steve explained. “She’s has it bad this time.”

Sam tossed his own cell phone in Steve’s direction. “My favorite pizza place is listed under my starred contacts . Just get double my usual order. I’ll put fresh sheets on the guest bed.”

* * *

Steve spent most of the night staring at Sam’s ceiling. What little sleep he got was riddled with nightmares—Nadia falling from a train into snowy mountains, being ordered to fight the Winter Soldier to the death, Natasha stabbing him while his teammates watched. He knew he should reach out to his wife and the others to try and calmly listen to their side of things, but he wasn’t ready for that. His head and his heart were still too jumbled at the moment to listen rationally.

He checked his phone periodically through the night; superficially, it was to measure time, but really, it was to see if anyone was trying to contact him. They weren’t. Steve wondered if there were meetings going on in New York on how to handle the situation. 

When dawn broke, beams of light inched their way across the ceiling. It meant it was nearly seven in the morning. If Natasha was lucky, Nadia would sleep for another hour. Steve wondered if last night was one of the times Natasha let their daughter share a bed with her. He questioned what Natasha had told the four-year-old to explain her father’s sudden absence and how she would’ve reacted. For the fifth time since running off, he opened the string of text messages between him and his wife. And for the fifth time, he stared at the screen until it faded to black and his phone locked itself. 

A knock sounded quietly on the door, and Steve told Sam it was okay to come in. His host poked in his head, cell phone to his ear. “It’s Hill. She’s passing along instructions for a meet.”

“Hello?” Steve greeted after taking the phone from Sam.

“Coulson is waiting at the diner on eighteenth. You willing to talk to him?” Maria asked. 

“Are you all finally willing to tell me the truth about all of this?” Steve returned.

“He’ll wait there for an hour, and then he’s flying back to New York,” was all she was willing to say before she disconnected the line.

Steve felt his temper begin to simmer again. He didn’t want to be handled. He didn’t want to be forced into a public place to keep his reaction in check. He didn’t want to be treated like some threat, not when he was the one who was lied to. 

He passed the phone back to Sam and got in the shower. Once he was cleaned up and redressed in clothes from yesterday, he hopped on his bike. Traffic was light at this time in the morning, and he made it to the diner with thirty minutes to spare.

Phil was seated in the back corner booth. This morning he’d opted for a more casual look—glasses and a collared shirt with jeans. There were two mugs and a pot of coffee on the table as well as a pair of menus. Steve slid into the booth and waited for Phil to speak first.

“You want any food?” Phil asked while nodding toward the menu sitting in front of Steve.

“Maybe after,” he answered. “Right now, I’d like an explanation.”

Phil nodded and poured them both coffee. “There were only two people aware of the Winter Soldier’s identity: Natasha and myself.” 

“Tony acted like he knew,” Steve pointed out.

“Tony was looking into the Winter Soldier for reasons that are explained in the file. He didn’t know for sure that it was Barnes, but he had a suspicion.”

“Fury didn’t know?” Steve asked.

Phil shook his head. “By the time Natasha defected to S.H.I.E.L.D., Barnes was already gone. Seemed like a moot point to reveal his true identity out to the world.”

“I assume Natasha was the one who told you?”

“She was looking through my Captain America memorabilia one night and recognized Barnes’s face. This was… seven years ago? Before you were found in the ice.” 

Steve took a sip of coffee, but it tasted too acidic in his mouth and certainly wouldn’t do anything but further harm his already soured stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me when I woke up?”

Phil opened the briefcase sitting on the bench next to him and pulled out a thick file. He dropped it on the formica table with a thud. The cover of the blue file folder had Cyrillic writing, and Steve was able to read enough of it to gather that it was an old KGB file on his best friend. “This is all that Natasha’s been able to collect over the years. We’re both sure there are other incidents not listed, but we haven’t been able to get our hands on them. Go ahead and read through it.” 

Steve’s fingers hesitated over the edge of the file folder. He desperately wanted to know what happened to his best friend, but maybe there was a good reason that all of this information was kept away from him. How much guiltier would he feel? Would it be better to just remember Bucky the way he was and not have all of this extra, quite possibly horrible, knowledge surrounding his existence? But he also had to know. As much as it would kill him, and it would, Steve had to know what happened after Bucky fell from the train. 

Adhered to the inside of the file folder was a picture of a man’s face. His eyes were closed, and the only color in the image was blue. Paper clipped to the bottom right corner of the image was a small, black and white headshot of Bucky in his Army uniform. Delicately, Steve grazed his thumb over the familiar face. “What’d they do to him?” Steve asked quietly, turning his attention to the larger picture.

“He was kept in cryostasis between missions. It’s why he stayed relatively the same age for a period of almost forty years.”

Steve would never forget what it was like to wake up from the ice, and he couldn’t imagine having to do it time and time again. He bolstered himself by looking at the small headshot one last time before he started leafing through the remainder of the folder’s contents.

Page after page detailed the assassinations performed by the Winter Soldier. They were ruthless, bloody killings, most often of people with big names and job titles like President Kennedy. Steve’s whole body felt numb as he tried to rationalize that his best friend—the one who cleaned him up after fights, took care of him when he was sick, and always had his back—was the man responsible for all of this.

His denial finally consumed him when he got to a page two-thirds of the way through the file. The victims’ names were Howard and Maria Stark.

“No,” Steve ground out in a horse tone of voice. “You want me to believe that he survived the fall? Sure. Was eventually turned over to the KGB as their personal assassin and packed away in ice between missions? Fine. But Bucky wouldn’t kill Howard. They were friends. He wouldn’t do that to him.”

“He did,” Phil said calmly.

Steve shook his head. “Tony said his parents were killed in a car accident, something about the roads being slick from ice or rain.”

“Wet roads don’t cause the steering wheel to be yanked out of a car so the driver loses control, and slick asphalt doesn’t fire bullets,” Phil said. 

“Why the cover-up?” Steve questioned.

“Turn the page,” the handler answered.

The following sheet of paper was a typed memo distributed to the former higher-ups at S.H.I.E.L.D. It ordered that all official results and media releases say the Starks’ deaths were the result of an automobile accident. If autopsy reports needed to be modified to say that Howard had been drinking, then so be it. The truth was not to be revealed; it would’ve been too damaging to the organization and would have started a wave of paranoia for other scientists working on whatever project Howard was assigned to at the time, as well as for government officials. Steve finally and completely lost it when he recognized Peggy’s signature at the bottom of the page. 

Steve couldn’t help but wonder if Peggy knew the Soldier’s identity, too. Had she figured it out? They’d never discussed Howard’s death in the few conversations they’d had after he was thawed, but Alzheimer’s had muddled her thinking enough at that point that Steve didn’t believe she was maliciously hiding things from him. 

But Howard was still her friend—or at least, he had been in the forties. And now, Peggy was ordering everyone to lie about it and was willing to let Howard’s reputation be known as the man who got drunk and killed himself and his wife to protect national secrets. Is this what working for an intelligence agency did to you? Did it turn all of your friends into liars and manipulators?

He slammed the file shut and shoved back in Phil’s direction, nearly spilling the man’s coffee. “This is bullshit,” Steve snarled. 

“I’m sure it feels that way,” Phil replied. “But I promise, this is what happened to Sergeant Barnes after he fell from the train.”

Steve shook his head and rose from the booth. Phil didn’t even try and stop him from storming out of the diner. He was grateful for that and for the fact that he was wearing clothes he could run in. And run he did. He sprinted away from the diner, not caring which direction he went in. He quickly ducked into alleys and side streets to avoid the increasingly populated sidewalks. Eventually, Steve wound up at the National Mall and ran several laps around the space before finding himself stopped in front of a memorial. There were a number of statues dedicated to Bucky and himself around the nation, and he’d actively avoided as many as he could. But now he was standing in front of a ten foot version of himself cut from limestone with Bucky at his side. 

His breath came in heaves, more from his emotions than the miles he’d ran in the last couple of hours. He wanted to say it was sweat stinging his eyes, but he knew it was tears. He stared up at Bucky’s determined face and missed his friend so much in the moment that he felt like his gut was being torn from the inside out. His eyes fell to the inscription marking Bucky’s death in the year 1945. His fingers reached out to brush over the numbers, and he wished he was as ignorant as he had been twenty-four hours ago when he firmly believed that fact to be truth.

Steve heard the whispers of onlookers starting to surround him, and he was in no mood to play to the crowds and deal with gawkers, so he bolted off again. Maybe someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. would take pity on him and delete any videos of him on YouTube from this morning. 

He ran until he found a secluded alley, and then, he couldn’t hold things in any longer. He’d been lied to, deceived, and manipulated. He’d been told only what was necessary to keep his allegiance to S.H.I.E.L.D. But it was still nothing compared to the hell Bucky must have gone through. Steve choked on sobs as he wondered what went through Bucky’s mind whenever he was pulled from the ice and given a new target. Did he do it in hopes of one day earning his freedom? Had he lost all hope on being rescued? Did he even know who he was? 

Once he got himself back under control, he walked out of the alley. Gaining his bearings, Steve began to run back to the diner. Phil was long gone, but thankfully the motorcycle was right where Steve parked it. Out of habit, he gave it a quick inspection to make sure nothing had been tampered with before climbing on and riding back to Sam’s house.

When Steve pulled up, he noticed an unmarked car parked on the curb. He pulled his bike up behind it and shut off the engine. Sam walked out of the house as Steve approached and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Like I said, your wife scares me, so I let her in. I’m going to go be anywhere else but here for a little bit. Text me when the coast is clear.” 

Steve paused at the doorway. He was already emotionally spent for the day, and it was just shy of noon. He knew he needed to talk to Natasha, but he really wasn’t sure if he had the energy to do so right now. A gurgle from his stomach reminded him of other pressing needs that he could use an excuse to delay conversation further. With a deep breath, he entered the house. Natasha sat in Sam’s armchair. She tried to keep her face neutral, but Steve knew her well enough to read the lines of tension in her limbs.

“Phil said you didn’t look at the last third of his file,” she said as a greeting.

He ground his jaw. An apology would’ve been a good start. Or a _How are you doing with all of this?_ But this was Natasha, and she usually didn’t bother with preamble. “What’s the last third of the file?” he asked.

“Me.” 

Steve ran a hand over his face. “I haven’t had anything to eat today, and I need another shower. Can I do those two things before we get into all of this?”

“Sure,” she said, her body posture giving away more nerves. “I brought you a bag. Didn’t know how long you’d need to stay away, but there’re some fresh changes of clothes in there if you want them. I put in the guest bedroom.”

“Thanks,” he said while pulling out leftovers from Sam’s fridge. He was suddenly grateful that his friend had demanded they order a third pizza last night.

“I can go for a walk if you want to be by yourself,” Natasha offered.

“You’re fine. You want a slice?” She wrinkled her nose at the offer and shook her head. “Am I going to make you sick if I eat this?”

“You mind eating it cold? It won’t smell as much that way,” she requested.

“Sure.” He ate a few slices quickly while standing at the kitchen counter before returning the box to the fridge and heading toward the guest bathroom. Along the way, he grabbed the bag Natasha had brought for him. Once he was alone in the bathroom with the shower running, he peeked inside the bag. She’d packed a week’s worth of clothes, and he felt a new tide of guilt wash over him. He burrowed deeper into the bag to see if she’d left some trinket from Nadia, something to remind him of what was at home, but she hadn’t. He didn’t know if that was hurtful or helpful. 

He let the water run as hot as it could. One of the benefits of the serum was that he could scald himself under the spray and his skin would barely stay pink for longer than a minute. He tried to purge the emotions clouding his brain with the heat of the water so that he could have a rational conversation with Natasha. It was a lofty goal, but one he pursued nonetheless.

After ten minutes of pinking up his skin, he stepped out of the shower, pulled on a pair of jeans and an undershirt, and wrapped the towel around his neck. When he opened the door between the bathroom and guest bedroom, he spotted Natasha sitting on the corner of the bed. She was clearly lost in her own thoughts since she jerked in surprise when he stepped out of the bathroom. He pulled up a chair and sat himself next to the bed. “Tell me about the last third of the file.”

Natasha eyed him cautiously. “I didn’t kill him,” she said before swallowing. “I did get him into a situation that caused his death, but I didn’t murder him. I know that might not be much of a distinction to you, but it is to me.”

If the confession made him feel any better, it was marginal. “Start from the beginning, please.” 

“I first met him in the late fifties. He was brought in to train the initiates and myself.”

“For the Red Room?”

Natasha nodded. “They didn’t tell us his name, names weren’t something we...” She paused and shook her head. “Names weren’t important there.”

“What did he train you in?” Steve questioned.

“Hand-to-hand combat, sniper skills, weapons.”

“And this was in the late fifties?” Steve asked trying his best to put together a timeline of Bucky’s life after he fell from the train.

“I don’t think he was used much before then. Phil told you about the cryostasis, right?” Steve nodded and she continued, “I think it took some time to build his arm and to program him into compliance.”

“Program?” Steve repeated. He knew brainwashing was a tactic used by some people. He’d always wondered if they’d tried it on Bucky the first time Zola’d captured him, but he’d never wanted to bring it up to his best friend.

Natasha picked at the bedspread while selecting her words. “The people in charge of the program used shock therapy and memory implantation to force our loyalty and mentally transform us into our covers for missions.” 

“They wiped his memory,” Steve assumed.

“Yes. He didn’t know about his past. When he tried to think about it, he told me it gave him debilitating migraines. But when he was left out of the ice for too long, memories would start to surface on their own.”

“Did he ever mention me?” Steve asked with a mixture of nerves and hope.

Natasha shook her head. “He’d only get vague memories—a smell would remind him of something he couldn’t place, or he’d think he recognized someone but couldn’t remember who they were or how he knew them. As soon as his handlers realized that he was starting to recall things from his past, they would wipe his memory again and put him back on ice.” 

Steve’s eyes slid closed at that with a mixture of sadness that Bucky couldn’t remember his life but there was a tinge of relief mixed in that he wasn’t haunted by how good he’d had it. “So he was your trainer?”

“At first,” she answered quietly. “The people in charge noticed we worked well together, so they began pairing us up for missions and we ended up spending a lot of time around each other.” She pursed her lips, one of the tells she had when she was about to give him bad news. “Steve, James and I were… Well, we clearly weren’t a typical couple, but we were together.”

Steve snorted. He wanted to joke about how he and Bucky always had similar tastes, but it dissolved on his tongue. He watched Natasha for a moment, noting her body language and nervous tics. Not only had she’d been aware of Bucky, she’d known him well—intimately, in fact, judging by her words. “Did you love him?” It wasn’t what he wanted to ask, but it was apparently what he needed to say. 

She mulled his invasive question for a moment before nodding. “As much as either one of us were capable of love at that time, yes.”

Steve turned his attention to his hands. He, of course, wasn’t mad about her confession. They didn’t know each other at the time, let alone knew they would end up together. He had no reason to feel jealous. If anything, he was grateful that someone was caring for Bucky while he was stuck in a frozen hell. “If you didn’t kill him, who did?”

“They’re already dead, so you don’t need to start plotting your revenge,” she told him.

He smiled a little at the joke. “I wasn’t there yet.”

“But you would’ve gotten there eventually,” Natasha challenged. He opened his mouth to try and deny it, but they both knew it would’ve been a lie. They both let the joke linger in the air as long as possible, a welcome respite from the last twenty-four hours. “It was a mission in Kiev,” Natasha started to explain. “I was sent in to lure out a target—someone else would be responsible for taking him out—but it went south.”

“The target got to him first?”

Natasha shook her head. “The mark—a former general—started running his mouth, talking about how he was from the same town I was and how he knew my parents. It was probably all a lie, but he was saying enough things that felt right—not that I had or have any clear memories of who or where I came from, it was just a gut feeling—to distract me and piss me off. I broke protocol and instead of walking away and leaving him for whoever was supposed to finish the job—I wasn’t privy to that information—I followed him, pulled him into an alley, and killed him. I was ordered to get out of there while the second operative cleaned up my mess.”

“And the second guy—Bucky—got caught?”

She nodded. “It took a couple dozen of the general’s men to bring him down, but they did.” She took a shuddering breath, a world of hurt evident in her eyes. “I was told after the mission what my error had cost the KGB.” She bit down on those words. “The KGB,” she muttered again in anger. “They told me that they wanted my grievous error on my record and that I would be recorded as the cause of James’s death, not the general’s men. It was my condemnation for not following orders.” 

“Sorry,” Steve whispered.

“You’re not the one who needs to be apologizing,” she told him.

And that comment brought them back to the question that had been haunting since he fled New York. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Natasha stared at him for a moment before answering. “When I first met you, there wasn’t any advantage to doing so, and that was still my mindset five years ago—what would play out best for me and earn me favors. But then I got to know you, and you were willing to raise a child that wasn’t yours with me… The more I was around you, the harder it was to say the words, even though I wanted to.”

“Not badly enough though,” he replied, bitterness slipping into his voice.

“Badly enough to hurt you? No, I didn’t want to do that,” Natasha said. “Steve, you haven’t been wrong all of this time—your best friend died falling from that train. I knew what was created from the rest of him, and he died forty years after Bucky did.” 

Her words didn’t bring him the consolation she probably hoped they would have. “You still should have told me.”

“I know,” Natasha replied. “I just didn’t want to hurt you by having you learn what his life became. And, selfishly, I didn’t want to remind you about what I was.” Before he could respond to that, she stood. “I understand if you need some time, but just remember that there’s a little girl at home who was really upset when her Daddy didn’t pick her up like he promised.” He ducked his head in guilt. “I didn’t say that to coerce you to come back, just… She’s not the only one who’s upset when you’re gone, but unlike me, she doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this mess.”

“I know,” Steve replied.

Natasha nodded. “If you have questions, call me. I’ll answer anything you want. So will anyone else on the team.”

He let her walk past him knowing full well that he should follow her, touch her, talk to her, something. But he remained rooted in his chair. He sat there for a bit thinking about what he would’ve done if his and Natasha’s roles were reversed. Would he have lied to her to keep her from being hurt? Or would he have told her the truth and opened them both up to pain but also honesty?

Steve didn’t have an answer to those questions, and he wasn’t sure he ever would. He did know he couldn’t hide and sulk forever. He texted Sam a thank you for letting him crash at his house and a promise to check in with him later in the week. He then packed up what few belongings he had with him and got on his bike. Before turning over the engine, he sent a text to Natasha. _30 min behind you_. Odds were good that he’d beat her back to the city; while they were both speed demons, Steve’s bike was slightly more maneuverable. 

When he returned to the Tower, JARVIS greeted him but didn’t mention anyone demanding to see him. The elevator whisked him up to his and Natasha’s personal floor. He pressed his thumb to the biometric scanner to gain access. Clint was sitting on the couch and fletching arrows when he walked in. “Natasha back yet?” Steve asked as he set his bag down.

Clint shook his head. “Nadia’s laying down. Don’t think any of us slept much last night.” He stood and crossed the distance between them. “If I’d known—“

Steve waved him off. “But you didn’t. It’s fine.”

“It’s not. And if you want me to withhold sex from one of the two people who did know, that can be arranged.”

“Not necessary,” he replied with a hint of a smile.

“Seriously, though,” Clint said, “if someone pulled that shit with me about Barney, I’d light them on fire. And I don’t even like my brother half of the time.” 

He ducked his head in response, and Clint quickly gathered up his stuff before leaving. Steve toed off his shoes and quietly walked down the hallway to Nadia’s room; her door was cracked, and he peeked inside. Instead of resting in her bed, the four-year-old was sitting on the floor looking at one of her books. “Hey Bug,” he greeted with a small smile as he entered the room.

He’d hoped for her to run into his arms; what he got instead was an angry glare. “You left,” she said quietly and bitterly. 

“I know,” he said with a sigh as he sunk to the floor.

“You said you’d come get me but you didn’t. You lied.” The last two words were spat at him and it broke Steve’s heart. Nadia was smart enough to know when her parents had to leave for missions; they usually weren’t the only ones gone, and Steve and Natasha were both diligent in explaining where they were going and when they’d be back, even if they had to leave on short notice. “You left,” she repeated.

Before Steve could try and apologize, Natasha was there and saying “Nadezhda” in a stern tone of voice. The girl looked up at her mother, and Steve watched her little face try and stay angry while avoiding the fear of getting in trouble. “You don’t get to be angry with him,” Natasha said. “He came home.”

“Mama, he left,” she continued to argue.

Natasha took a deep breath in an obvious effort to calm herself down. “Nadia, one day you will realize that he never had to be here in the first place. He chose to be. And then he chose to keep being here.” Steve looked up at her, but Natasha avoided his eyes. “I know you can’t understand that right now, but one day you will. You don’t get to be mad at him.” 

With that, she walked away. Steve wanted to follow after her, feeling the need for another discussion, which was something neither of them were great at, but he knew his daughter needed soothing first. “Can I explain why I left?” he asked Nadia. She shrugged her shoulders as her answer. “You know how sometimes you get really angry, and Mama and I make you have time by yourself so you can calm down and be happy again?” Nadia looked at him with big eyes before folding in on herself and nodding. “I got angry at…everyone, yesterday,” he continued. “And I needed to calm down before I could talk to people again. I didn’t want to get angry at you because you didn’t do anything wrong and that wouldn’t have been fair to you. Can you forgive me?”

Forgiveness was a difficult lesson to teach in their home. Steve felt there were things he’d done that didn’t deserve forgiving, and Natasha was even worse about it. But teaching their daughter the concept was something they both tried to do to the best of their abilities.

“I guess,” Nadia answered.

“Thank you,” Steve replied, and he meant it from the depths of his heart. “Do we still get to cuddle?” he asked.

She considered the offer a moment before climbing into his lap. Steve wrapped his arms around her and tried to ban all his other thoughts, replacing them instead with the sound of Nadia’s breathing and the smell of her tear-free shampoo.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve sat on the floor of Nadia’s room, listening to her breathe in the dark. After his disappearing act where he fled to DC to try and process the news about Bucky, she was worried he was going to leave again. “You have to hold my hand until I fall asleep,” she’d demanded while he helped her change into her pajamas covered in little moons and stars. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d made the request. Whenever he or Natasha were gone for an extended mission or she was scared about one of them getting hurt, she asked this favor, and her parents were always happy to oblige.

He knew he should get up and talk to Natasha about something, anything. But the silent bedroom lit only by Nadia’s frog nightlight was soothing. Nadia’s hand, wrapped around two of his fingers, had gone slack almost immediately. Steve could have up and left, but he stayed seated on the floor.

He’d heard Natasha cleaning up after dinner, but the rest of the apartment was still now. He wondered what she was doing, or if she’d left. They’d both let Nadia do most of the talking during dinner as she shared about her adventures with Uncle Clint that afternoon and recapped what she’d learned at pre-school that week, but even after a while the four-year-old caught on to the tension between her parents and fell silent, too. 

Outside the window, the first winter snow was coming down. It was an early snow, since it was mid-November. Steve wondered if it would stick around long enough for Nadia to play in it tomorrow. They had a habit of using the landing pad and extended deck from the community floor attached to the top of Stark Tower as their personal winter playground. 

But looking out at the snow made him think of a train ride from seventy years ago, and his stomach churned. 

Leaning forward, he gently placed a kiss on the top of Nadia’s head. She inhaled sharply at the contact but stayed asleep. Slowly, he pried his fingers away from her grasp and left her bedroom. The rest of the apartment was dark when he stepped out into the hallway. He thought that maybe Natasha had left, but then he heard the faint splashing of water. Bath, then.

He could leave. The thought was quick and quiet and he wanted to stamp it down, but it was tempting. The day had been long and exhausting, starting in Sam’s house and ending here. Or he could go to bed, but despite the exhaustion in his bones, he knew it wouldn’t be a restful sleep. He had to talk to Natasha eventually, might as well not put it off.

Steve was tempted to slide down the doorjamb to the bathroom and sit there, but then he remembered another time he did that while Natasha was in the bath. It was when she was unsure on how she’d handle being a mom, and he’d told her that she’d basically figure it out on her own. That probably wasn’t the best memory to relive, so instead he slowly made his way into the room, guiding himself down next to the tub.

“Hey,” she greeted softly. “She asleep?”

He nodded. “Almost as soon as I tucked her in. Clint said no one slept well last night. How bad was it?”

“You know how she can worry, especially when others around her are nervous about things, even though we all try and hide it from her.”

Steve did know. Nadia, a clone of her mother minus the bio-enhancements, had always been sensitive to the moods of those around her. Natasha was the same, but her handlers and trainers had used that trait to the advantage and twisted it to become a tool to manipulate people. In Nadia, it presented itself in the form of a little girl who was ready to hug a bruised uncle or sneak cuddles for a mission-weary parent. “She have stomach aches?” he asked.

“All night,” Natasha answered.

Steve felt guilt wash over him for inflicting that kind of pain and sleeplessness on his daughter. And probably a few others in the Tower, but Nadia couldn’t have done anything to prevent this. He felt his temper threaten to surge to the surface once more, but he held it at bay. Shoved it down and swallowed it; his anger had caused enough damage in the last couple of days. 

“How’s your stomach been?”

Natasha shrugged, causing the bath water to ripple around her. The changes to her body were slight. She was picking up the weight she’d lost when her morning sickness was getting the better of her last week. Most people wouldn’t even see a difference, but Steve could pick up on the barely there increase to her curves. She was almost seven weeks now. 

“Calmer. Still attempting a coup every now and then, but I’ve got a better handle on it.” 

Steve took note of the lack of steam in the bathroom, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “It’s weird to have you in the bath and not have the whole room feel like a sauna.”

“I’m supposed to be growing a person, not cooking it over easy,” she fired back. “And don’t tell McClellan, but I actually do read her damn pamphlets on how to take care of myself.” 

“I can talk to Phil about cutting back on my missions so I can be around more to help you out, if you want it. Not that I think you need the help or anything, but, you know.”

She stilled and studied him for a moment. “Steve, they’re not going to let you go on missions for a while.”

“Why?” he asked.

“According to Phil, Fury wants us all benched, or at least those of us who had an idea of what was going on, until we work some things out,” Natasha told him.

“Are we going to have to do some rope obstacle course or something?” Steve asked. “Because I’m pretty sure Tony will up and quit if it comes to that.”

“Psych evals,” Natasha answered. “Mandatory sessions for all team members, extended visits for those of us who knew about James’s identity.”

“And for those us who just found out about that?” Steve asked tightly. He shook his head. “Can they at least get Sam up here to do some of the sessions?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she told him, but he knew it was just a pacifying statement. She usually said the same thing to Nadia when the four-year-old asked for ice cream when they were out running errands. 

“What are they worried about, other than me storming out again?” Steve questioned.

“Who’s doing this and why.”

It was an obvious thought, but not one that’d crossed Steve’s mind. “Did you or Tony find any trace of who sent us the information?”

Natasha shook her head. “They bounced the signal around too much and buried the source. But they think it might be tied into the hostage situation in Moscow.”

Steve weighed that news, but it didn’t quite sit right with him. “You said you didn’t know who that man was, and we couldn’t verify he was from the Red Room. Besides, he was already dead when the hack to give us the file on Bucky came through. Do they think the guy was being controlled by someone else?”

“They don’t know,” Natasha responded as she toed the release to drain the tub and stood up from the water. “There’s just not enough to go on right now.”

“Is there more coming?” Steve asked as he moved out of the way for her to step out of the tub and handed her a towel.

“They don’t know that either.”

“Do you know of anything else that might be coming?” he asked.

Her head jerked up to look him in the eye, and he saw the faintest flicker of emotions—anger, pain, embarrassment—trace over her face before she locked it down into neutrality. “No,” she answered calmly. “But if you want more information on what happened back then—“

“I want all of it,” he interrupted. “And I want to search for more. There has to be more out there about him. I know you said that you and Phil tried to get your hands on everything you could, but maybe Fury knows some people that—“

“Sure,” she said quietly. She tightened the towel around her body and hugged her arms around her waist and chest. “If you want, I can sleep on your old floor. I’ll come back down before Nadia gets up for preschool tomorrow. If you need some space for a few days, or more than a few days, I can go up there whenever Nadia’s at school or asleep.”

“No,” Steve told her. “I’m not going to kick my pregnant wife out of our apartment or our bed.”

“It’s okay if you do,” she said, giving him an out.

He was aware of that. He had ample reason to leave again and stay away, but he couldn’t. “Nadia will find out about it. She’ll come into our room after a nightmare or something, and then it’s a whole new set of issues to deal with. You’re not staying up there.”

* * *

When morning dawned, Steve reached for his phone to check his schedule. It was usually the first thing he did every morning when he woke up. S.H.I.E.L.D. had a habit of changing things at a moment’s notice, but he could at least get a good sense of what the day would hold for him. And for now, it looked like Natasha had been right; he had a pair of three hour meetings, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, with the psych department.

These were some of the least favorite appointments Steve could endure. He would rather deal with an ADHD Stark who hadn’t slept in a week and was double-fisting RedBulls in a mission briefing than talk about feelings and what they might mean. Clint called him a grouchy old man whenever he shared his opinion on the matter, but the archer had a mutual distaste for the sessions.

Steve didn’t see Sam’s name on the appointment reminders. He doubted they’d bring him up for DC to handle this. They’d want a new face, someone unattached from Steve’s life so there wouldn’t be bias. The last thing he wanted to do this morning was talk about this entire mess with some stranger.

He’d slept fitfully the previous night, dreams a mixture of good memories and imagined horrors. Natasha had fared about as well as he had, judging from how many times he heard her mutter in Russian while she slept. Nadia, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Pretty much back to normal, she held true to her morning routine of turning both outfit and breakfast selections into a serious negotiation. Steve had no idea what job the girl would hold as an adult, and he certainly wasn’t going to push her in any one direction, but he knew for a fact that whoever she went up against would be in a world of hurt. 

“I’ll pick you up from daycare today, okay?” he told her as they walked into the doors of her preschool classroom. “I’ll get there before the big kids come from after they’re done with school.”

She scrunched her face up at him. “You’re supposed to come after the big kids get here.”

“Daddy doesn’t have as much to do today. I thought I’d come get you early.”

“Can we go to the zoo?” she asked excitedly.

“How about we build a blanket fort and watch a movie instead?” When she didn’t look impressed, he added, “I’ll make us some popcorn.”

“I’ll think about it,” she answered before running off to put away her backpack and play with her friends. Steve watched her get settled into the classroom routine before waving goodbye to her teachers.

The psych ward—not the actual title but rather Tony’s nickname for the place—was ten floors up. It was just beneath the medical unit. He was scheduled to meet with a psychologist, Doctor Kala Vaidya. The woman, nearly half his height, appeared to be in her late sixties. Her still-dark hair was braided down her back, and she gave a bright smile while shaking Steve’s hand. “Let’s go talk,” she told him in a thick accent before leading him to her office.

“Am I supposed to lay down on a couch?” Steve asked as they entered the room.

“If that’s what will make you feel comfortable. I can lay down the couch if that will make it easier for you to discuss things,” she responded. 

He eyed the available seats in the office and settled for the chair across from the psychologist’s desk. She murmured a noise, and Steve wasn’t sure if it was approval or not, before seating herself at her desk. “How are you feeling today, Captain Rogers?”

“Honestly?” Steve questioned.

Doctor Vaidya smiled. “I am going to be very honest with you. I would appreciate it if you would return the favor.”

Steve burrowed deeper into his seat, bracing himself for the next three hours. Psychologists and talking about your feelings wasn’t something he grew up with. God knows it could have helped a bunch of his men when they came back from the war, but it just wasn’t part of society then. Now, it seemed like some people couldn’t order coffee without talking to their therapist about it first. Steve didn’t get it. But he also knew that he swallowed a lot of emotions that he needed to deal with, so maybe the process wouldn’t be an absolute waste of time. 

“How am I feeling?” Steve repeated, and the woman nodded. “I really don’t know. It’s been a lot of emotions in the last couple days. I don’t even know how to process all of them.”

“Let’s start with your wife lying to you. How does that make you feel?”

Steve’s heart, if the serum had allowed, would’ve skipped a beat. He could feel his adrenaline spike and his system counter to squash it since he wasn’t in physical danger, all in under a second. “Lying is a strong word,” he replied. “She didn’t tell me something because she thought it would hurt me.”

The doctor shrugged. “That is a lie of omission, is it not? What else has she hidden from you?”

“I’m sure there’s a number of things Natasha hasn’t shared, but that’s her right. I’m not going to demand she share every little secret with me. She wouldn’t do that to me about my past.”

“And what kind of effect do you think that will have on your marriage? One that was only initiated because she didn’t want her daughter to go into foster care if something happened to her.” 

Steve gripped the armrest of the metal office chair. Part of his mind knew that doing so would more than likely leave an indentation on the furniture, but most of his brain didn’t care. “That’s not why we got married.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “That’s not what my records say,” she rebutted. “It says in my notes that Agent Romanoff didn’t want there to be any chance for her unborn daughter to be put in foster care while waiting for a court-appointed guardian to be able to step in, so she proposed to you.”

Steve’s mind drifted back to his Brooklyn apartment and Natasha, full belly and wearing a yellow dress, climbing up several flights of stairs to make that exact deal with him. 

He cringed mentally at using that word for their proposal, but at the time, that’s what their relationship had been. More like a business partnership than anything else, certainly not love. That had taken time, and some days they still weren’t completely there. But they’d come a long way in the four years since that conversation.

They never told anyone the contents of that conversation, just that they’d agreed to marry before Nadia was born so that Steve would legally be recognized as the father, which would preclude foster services from having to step in if something happened to Natasha. He questioned how someone had found out about the afternoon they got engaged. And deep down, a small part of him wondered if Natasha had filed some report on the proposal. As if having that conversation merited an after-action report. Had Phil or Fury needed to know? Demanded details under the guise of team cohesion and whatnot? 

“It wasn’t as crude as you’re making it out to sound,” he said, not only to the doctor but also to himself. “I’d offered months before to step in as whatever role she wanted me to play if she needed help. That could have been nothing, or exactly what it looks like today.”

“And yet, even though you were willing to graciously offer so much of yourself, she still withheld information about your best friend. As did your handler and at least one other teammate.”

Three hours of that. Round after round of invasive questions and cruel accusations, except they weren’t so much accusations as the truth. But this session felt more like an interrogation than anything else. Not even when he was being put through the ringer for Project Rebirth were things so intense. A number of times, Steve had to force himself to stay in his seat and not mouth off to the psychologist, even though it was what he really wanted to do.

When they took an hour break for lunch, Steve quickly ran through the cafeteria on one of the lower levels of the building. Blindly, he grabbed a sandwich, a piece of fruit, and a bottle of water. He ate his food quickly while making his way down the stairwell to the main floor, but saved the bottle of water. There was a gym in one of the basements, and Steve quickly changed out his casual clothes for sweats. He used the remainder of his lunch break sprinting as quickly as he could on a treadmill in hopes that the exertion would keep him calm for his afternoon session.

It didn’t work. 

Among other things that set his temper afire in the three-hour afternoon session was the accusation that Natasha knew the recent events were about to unfold and found a way to make sure she could get pregnant to insure that Steve wouldn’t walk away. He was about to bolt out of the abused chair when Doctor Vaidya extended a hand to still him.

“Captain Rogers, do you know why I’m asking these questions?” He had a number of responses crowd the tip of his tongue, but none of them would be a good idea considering this was a psych eval. He shook his head instead. “You and your teammates—whom you consider family—are responsible for keeping the earth’s inhabitants safe. You cannot do that job effectively if you do not trust your team members. Therefore, it is my responsibility to work out every possible scenario that would cause doubt between the Avengers. It is my job to make you sure you can work together and keep the world safe.” 

With that, he was effectively dismissed until morning. When he walked out of the office, he found Bruce standing in the hallway, staring into the distance. “You okay?” Steve asked.

The scientist’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t hear?” Bruce questioned. 

“Hear what?”

“Natasha slamming the door on the way out of her session.” 

Steve looked up and down the hallway. “Are we all having psych evals today?”

Bruce nodded. “Some of us are handling them better than others. If mine was invasive, I can’t imagine what they were like for the two of you.” 

Steve’s stomach dropped and he started down the hallway. He grabbed Bruce’s shoulder on the way and, with care, physically coerced Bruce into walking with him. “The last time I told Nadia I’d pick her up and didn’t, she freaked. And since that was a couple of days ago, I’m not ready to do it again. You mind picking her up with me and then distracting her for a little while? If Natasha was that upset—“

“Yeah, sure,” Bruce answered. “She looked shaky, but Clint followed her out.”

Once Nadia was successfully passed on to Bruce after chatting both the men up on the way back to the Tower about her day, Steve walked into the apartment. Natasha was standing in the kitchen, her back to him as she looked out the wall of windows. On the table, a plate of toast and a mug of herbal tea were untouched.

“Tasha?” he asked softly, approaching her slowly.

She swiped quickly at her eyes before turning to face him. The effort didn’t hide the hurt on her face, or how wet her eyes were. “Did I ruin us?” she asked. 

He swallowed and then reached out to brush a strand of hair out of her face. She flinched at the contact and took a step away. “You’re supposed to be pissed at me. You shouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“C’mere,” he said while pulling her toward him. She pulled away from him at first but then stepped into the contact. Steve didn’t feel the tension disappear for a full three minutes. “We’ll fight later if that’s what you want, I promise. But for now, we just have to get through this.”

* * *

Therapy was like digging bullets out of wounds. Steve remembered Morita having to do that to members of the Howling Commandos from time to time, and in a few of those instances, Steve had been the patient. Bucky and Peggy would take turns chewing him out for being an idiot while Morita barely hid his smile while he worked. 

The psychologists seemed hell bent on collectively breaking down and tearing apart everything the Avengers had built together. They apparently wanted to cannibalize the existing team into something stronger, but all Steve could feel right now was the sensation of his life being torn apart.

When he wasn’t in a therapy session or taking care of Nadia, he was pouring over whatever scant information on Bucky Natasha and Phil had dug up over the years. Tony had even thrown in some information from his dad’s archives on the matter. 

Steve still couldn’t bring himself to call his best friend the Winter Soldier, even though he didn’t want to imagine Bucky committing such heinous acts. 

It was late, and Steve sat at the kitchen table by himself. The lone overhead light streamed onto an image from the fateful day when Bucky had fallen from the train. The image, in black and white, showed a dark trail winding through snow. The picture had been taken by the trio of Army officers sent to retrieve Bucky’s body. The report stated that the line of blood continued for nearly a mile and then disappeared with no trace of where Bucky was taken or how he was transported. The officers assumed some animals had dragged a corpse a distance to eat remains in piece. 

Steve cringed at the thought of wolves gnawing on Bucky’s bones, but thankfully, that wasn’t what happened. That was honestly the only thing Steve had to be thankful about. 

“Want help?” Natasha asked quietly as she approached the kitchen. “I can translate some of those reports for you, unless you can already read them on your own or want JARVIS to do it.”

He used his foot to push the chair next to him away from the table and made sure the corner of his mouth turned up in a friendly and inviting manner. They had managed to keep things feeling normal when Nadia was awake, but once their daughter was in bed, both of them were a little tired of putting on a show. 

Natasha was still pulled taut, waiting for Steve to curse her name and flee at any second. Steve was nowhere near ready to put all of this together in his mind, and his emotions flipped between still being extremely hurt and mad that she’d never told him about this to trying to be understanding of her secrets and respectful of her privacy.

“That’s new,” Natasha said as she tilted her head to examine the image Steve was staring at. 

“Part of the files Tony gave me,” he told her.

“The two of you have a conversation about James?” she asked.

Steve shook his head. “As I’m sure my therapist has figured out, and as you well know, I’m not great about talking to people about stuff like this.” 

Natasha stared at him for a moment before saying, “You don’t fight like him.”

“Tony?” Steve questioned, even though he knew exactly who Natasha was talking about. “No, I don’t fight like Bucky. He only dragged me away by my collar when I got into it with someone, never showed me how to throw a punch. He tried his best not to encourage my behavior, just tried to keep me alive.” Steve’s eyes flickered over the various pictures and reports scattered across the table, and they stuck on one sheet of handwritten notes, the looped and precise letters were familiar to him. “Peggy taught me to fight, before I got this body. Showed me how to pack as much power as I could into a punch or kick.” He looked up at Natasha. “You fight like him though. Honestly didn’t put it together until all of this happened.”

Natasha nodded. “He trained me, but I’ve evolved a lot of it over the years.”

“Still efficient and quick, just like him. Only thing he took his time on was lining up sniper shots, and he was still the quickest on the trigger than anyone else in uniform.”

“If you make the shot, then who cares if you work quickly?” Natasha argued.

Steve smiled. “You learned that from him, too.” He sighed and turned back to the table. “I keep looking through these things to try and find an answer, but I don’t even know what the question is yet.” He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head before returning his attention to his wife. “How are you doing?” he asked.

She arched an eyebrow. “With what?”

“Anything,” he answered. “Everything.”

One of her red nails traced the edge of a photograph while she considered her answer. “Depends on the hour, and the added hormones aren’t helping with anything.”

“You’re still feeling better, right?”

She nodded. “Nausea is still definitely hanging around, but I’ve got a better handle on it. We need to figure out where we going to put another kid.”

“Wish my old floor was right above us. We could have Tony connect the two—put all the bedrooms upstairs. Offices and a play room down here.”

She twisted in her chair, presumably to imagine what such a setup would look like. He remembered years ago how he’d helped picture what the new changes to her apartment would look like as Tony built Nadia’s nursery. It was the first time he’d been brave enough to step into her personal space and be near her. He remembered the smell of her shampoo and the warmth of her body, and how maybe he could truly find something in these modern times to devote himself to.

“It’s a nice thought,” Natasha said. “But your apartment is still three floors up. What about Brooklyn?” she offered.

He felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. “You’d move out of the Manhattan?”

“You’ve already got a place there. We could use your charm to buy out some apartments around ours to expand.”

“I’m not kicking people out of their homes,” he argued.

“You’d be surprised how much people would be willing to give up for you,” she told him quietly. “But I guess the commute would be hell, and as much as I hate living in a giant frat house sometimes, it is safer.”

“C’mon,” he said as he rose from his seat and pulled her up with him. “Let’s put this stuff away and go to bed.” Quietly, they worked together to hide the files out of Nadia’s curious sight. When they changed and crawled under the sheets, Steve delicately tugged her closer to him. It was a habit he’d foregone in the last couple of weeks, partly because of anger and partly because he didn’t know how to have conversation with his wife. But they quickly readjusted to the contact, and he could feel a hint of tension slip from Natasha’s body. 

Steve’s hand slowly swept down her front to stop over her stomach. “Boy or girl?” he asked. 

“No idea,” Natasha answered. “I just have nightmares about all these red-headed children running around and driving us crazy. They keep multiplying, and it’s nothing but chaos.”

“I like red heads,” Steve responded, and she snickered. 

She rolled in his arms and rested her hand in the middle of his chest. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“Me too,” he said. He knew they weren’t through the thick of it yet, that there would still be more fights and tension between them, but it was a start.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, more details at the end of the chapter since I'm sure you'd rather read that.

It was a tradition that started five years ago, back when they’d only been a team for six months or so. Tony’d demanded that they each pick something to celebrate Christmas since most of the team didn’t have family to visit. Steve’s choice was midnight mass.

If pressed, it would be difficult for him to answer the question on whether or not God existed. He’d seen too many gruesome sights to think an all-benevolent power was there, but he’d also witnessed too many miracles to completely discount something. The cathedral, with its stained glass windows and statues in the likeness of saints, wasn’t a place he went to validate his faith. Steve went to mass because it was something he was raised on. The smells, routine, and words were familiar and comforting. 

He was the only one who came to services outside of the holidays. He brought Nadia with him most of the time, the two of them spending Sunday mornings together. He more wanted her to find the same safe-feeling tradition that his mother had instilled in him than indoctrinate his daughter into a religion.

At the moment, said daughter was valiantly trying not to fall asleep while sitting on his lap. Steve ducked his head and gently placed a kiss on the top of her head when he felt her finally slump against his chest. She wore in a new dress, which she had shown off with a twirl for each of her uncles, and a shiny pair of patent leather shoes. Steve looked down the row, where all his friends who were basically family filled the pew. Natasha caught his eye and gave him a soft smile, which he returned.

While things weren’t completely back to normal, the wounds between the two of them had been mostly healed. In the six weeks since Bucky’s full past was revealed, they’d spent a number of late nights at the dining room table, pouring over files, images, and every scrap of data they could find to try and piece together what had been Bucky’s life. Steve had learned enough to make his stomach churn for decades. He hated that his best friend had been tortured and forced into committing such heinous acts. While he desperately wanted to learn all that had happened to Bucky, he was terrified of what else was out there.

Once the service finished, Steve leaned down to whisper in Natasha’s ear. “Mind if I stick around for a few minutes? I can find another ride back if you guys don’t want to wait.”

“It’s fine,” she told him. “Take as much time as you need.” She reached for Nadia, ignoring Steve’s look to make sure she was capable of carrying the sleeping four-year-old out of the cathedral. He could hear her chide him about being pregnant and not an invalid without her actually opening her mouth.

He stood in a shadowed corner, waiting for the majority of the parishioners to leave. Once the large room was mostly empty, Steve walked up to the bank of candles. He took a moment to watch light flicker shadows over the stone statues standing guard and wondered what he was doing. He hadn’t performed this act since he prayed for Bucky’s safety when he first shipped off to war decades ago—now here he was again. Steve wasn’t sure if he should pray for peace for a restless soul, beg forgiveness for his best friend’s actions, or selfishly ask that the pain seared into his heart be healed. In the end, he thought of Bucky’s smile and his laugh while he lit the candle, hoping that his best friend didn’t totally lose his happiness after he fell from the train.

* * *

A soft chime sounded through the air, and three seconds later, Nadia burst into the bedroom. “It’s Christmas!” the girl crowed before bounding up on the bed. “Do I get to open presents now?”

Steve sat up, wrapped the girl in his arms, and quickly laid back down so she was stuck between her parents and pinned against his chest. “Mama and Daddy want to sleep for another hour. Can you wait that long?”

“No,” Nadia grunted as she wiggled in his arms. “Daddy, let me go!”

“Ask nicely,” Steve replied.

Nadia looked over to Natasha. “Mama, please make Daddy let me go.”

Natasha smiled. “She did say please.”

Steve faked a dramatic sigh and loosened his arms. Nadia broke free and began to jump on the bed, and Steve kept one hand hovering near her in case her excited feet got to close to Natasha. “Can we do it now?” she repeated. 

“JARVIS, start a two minute count down,” Natasha requested before turning to the girl. “Daddy and I will be out in a minute, and when JARVIS stops counting, we’ll open gifts.”

“Can I at least go look at my presents?” Nadia asked, eyes big and pathetic.

“Look. But don’t touch,” Steve instructed. “If you do, JARVIS will tell us.”

Nadia scowled at the ceiling for a second before hopping off the bed and running out of the room. Steve rolled on to his side. “Feeling okay?” he asked.

Natasha nodded. “Nausea is getting better with each morning. Thank goodness for second trimesters.”

“You sure you still want to tell her?” he questioned. “It’s a long time until July, and you know how much she loves asking questions.”

Natasha traced the pattern on her pillowcase for a second while she considered her answer. “I think we all need something to be happy about after the last couple months. Don’t you?”

“I guess that’s worth six months of questions,” Steve replied before leaning in to kiss her. “Merry Christmas.”

“You, too,” Natasha whispered. Her hand moved up his chest and started to snake around his neck when a shout came from the living room.

“Mama! Daddy! JARVIS says it’s time!”

“We still sure we want two of these things?” Steve asked with a smile before giving Natasha another quick kiss and climbing out of bed.

When they entered the living room, Nadia was sitting mere inches from the small pile of presents under the tree she’d helped decorate a few weeks ago. She was sitting on her hands, a technique her preschool teacher had taught her in order to keep herself out of trouble. Her knees were bouncing up and down, and Steve smiled. He could practically feel the excitement coming off of her in waves. Steve walked over, scooped her up, and sat her down on his lap on the couch. Natasha moved into the kitchen to fix herself a mug of hot tea.

There were only half a dozen wrapped boxes under the tree. Neither Steve nor Natasha received a many presents when they were growing up, and they’d decided together not to spoil their daughter. At least, not with a pile of Christmas gifts; they’d leave to the other occupants of the Tower. Someone had told the parents the rule of “something you want, something you need, something to wear, and something to read” and they’d followed it as a shopping guide for each Christmas. That comprised four of the gifts under the tree. Both Steve and Natasha had individually taken Nadia shopping to find a gift for the other parent. Then there was always a series of art projects coordinated by Steve to make gifts for aunts and uncles. Those would be given later that evening before dinner.

Once Natasha settled herself on the couch next to them, Nadia sniffed at Natasha’s mug. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Hot tea,” Natasha answered.

“Like Uncle Bruce makes?”

Natasha nodded and blew into the mug. “Want a sip?” Nadia nodded and clamored over to sit next to her. Natasha helped her take a little drink, and Nadia hummed happily at the taste. She then bounded off of the couch to grab the first wrapped box. 

“Bring that to me first,” Steve said. “There’s one we have to save for last.” Nadia held up the box for his inspection, and he nodded his okay. She quickly tore off the paper and opened the box to find a new series of books featuring a little pig who gets a new younger sibling. The books were quickly set aside for her to fully inspect later. She grabbed the next box and held it up for Steve to identify.

“That’s the one you and I got for Daddy,” Natasha told her.

“Oh yeah!” Nadia said excitedly before practically throwing the small box at Steve’s lap in order to dive for another present. The next gift she grabbed also wasn’t for her. The girl grunted as she tried to lift it.

“That’s what we got for Mama,” Steve reminded her as he lifted the present for her and set it next to Natasha. Nadia crinkled her nose as she remembered what the gift was, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I wanted to get you something else,” she told Natasha.

“Mama doesn’t want a stuffed dog for Christmas,” Steve said.

“But it was purple,” Nadia argued, as if such a point would sway Natasha’s opinion.

“Open your next present,” Steve told her.

Nadia dove back for the next gift and ripped off the snowman-covered wrapping paper. Inside was a box full of art supplies. Natasha had argued that this wasn’t something their daughter necessarily needed, but either Steve had made a convincing argument or Natasha had chosen bigger fish to fry. The four-year-old happily announced each item as she pulled it free—crayons, paint, a brush, paper—until the box was empty.

There were two gifts remaining, and Nadia looked expectantly at Steve to find out which remaining gift she could open. “Bring that one to me,” he said, pointing to the smaller of the boxes. Once she’d followed instructions, Nadia inspected the box that was nearly as big as she was before ripping off the paper. She gasped in surprise at the sight of a dollhouse on the box.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed while climbing on the couch to hug both her parents. For the last four months, whenever the girl had conned an adult to take her inside a toy store, she’d marveled at the pink plastic house, complete with little family and furniture—and endless accessories for parents to spend money on. “It’s exactly what I wanted,” she sighed happily.

“You’ve still got one more gift,” Natasha pointed out.

Steve handed her the box and she tore the paper off as fast her little fingers allowed. She lifted the lid to the box and pulled out the shirt within. “Can you read what it says?” he asked.

Nadia pointed to the first word. “Big,” she said. “I know that one.” She stared at the second word, correctly identifying each letter, but she still hadn’t quite mastered the skill of sounding out words. “Mama, what is it?”

“It says ‘big sister,’” Natasha answered. “Because that’s what you’re going to be.”

The girl gasped in excitement and bounded off the couch. “Where is he?” she half-screamed.

“Where is who?” Steve asked.

“My brother. Where is he?”

Steve ran a hand over his face. “Bug, I know you want to become a big sister like Zelda, but we’re not adopting anyone. Mama is growing the baby inside her, and then they’ll be born.”

“Growing inside?” Nadia asked, her face scrunched up in dubiousness.

“Like I did with you,” Natasha told her while pointing to a picture from their wedding. 

Nadia’s eyes bounced back and forth from Natasha’s stomach in the picture and the shape of her body now. “How long will it take to grow him?”

“The baby will be here around my birthday,” Steve told her. “You have to wait until the summer. And we don’t know if it’s a little sister or a brother yet. It might be a girl,” he warned.

Nadia climbed back up onto the couch, grabbed Steve’s face with her little hands, and pulled his forehead to rest against hers. “I want a brother,” she said with as much seriousness as she could muster.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Steve replied.

“Can I go play with my dollhouse?” Nadia asked.

“Mama and I need to open our presents,” Steve told her. “Then I’ll fix us some breakfast.”

“And then dollhouse?” Nadia pushed.

“Promise,” Steve told her while extending a finger to finish the traditional pinky swearing process. He nodded at Natasha to open her gift first. It was an early edition _Anna Karenina_ written in the original Russian. 

“I still think we should’ve gotten her the dog,” Nadia grumbled.

“Well, I like this gift very much,” Natasha said as she turned the leather-bound book over in her hands and flipped through the pages. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Steve said as he teased the wrapping paper off of his small box. Enclosed in a glass case was a baseball adorned in familiar signatures.

“Someone wanted to write her name on it, too,” Natasha said while tilting her head in Nadia’s direction.

“Mama said I couldn’t,” the girl pouted.

“Since you didn’t play on the 1941 Brooklyn Dodgers, Mama is right,” Steve replied as he gently rubbed his thumb over familiar names. He held up the ball towards Nadia. “This is off limits for playing, okay? It’s very old and special.”

Nadia nodded her understanding. Natasha helped her pick up remnants of wrapping paper while Steve moved into the kitchen to start breakfast. Omelets were always a family favorite, so Steve pulled out eggs, cheese, and vegetables from the fridge and started preparing the meal.

Their day went on as normal for the most part. They ate breakfast, helped set up Nadia’s dollhouse, and played for a little bit. Once afternoon hit, Steve and Natasha noticed that Nadia’s attitude was growing slightly worse, which was understandable since she had been up late the night before for midnight mass and all the excitement from this morning had drained her. It took the negotiations of reading one of her new books and napping with her “brother,” but forty minutes later, the girl was asleep with one hand resting on Natasha’s stomach.

“Family nap time?” Natasha whispered.

Steve shook his head. “Not tired, you go ahead.” He stayed in the bed long enough to watch Natasha drift off to sleep. He snuck out of the bedroom and again picked up the baseball he’d been given. As he read the names, his memories drifted to hot summer days and listening to games on the radio with Bucky. 

The pain that came with missing his friend was different now that it was six weeks ago. Sure, there was the constant dull ache of having to live without a man who was basically his brother. But there was also now a deeper sadness that Bucky had to go through all he did and Steve couldn’t do anything about it.

* * *

Christmas dinner with another tradition the team annually honored. The meal was a project cooked and organized by Clint, Bruce, and Pepper. The trio did their best to insure that everyone’s holiday favorites were included, making for some odd pairings at times, but no one was going to complain.

When the three members of the Rogers family entered the common floor’s dining room, the party was already in full swing. Everyone wore dresses or slacks to set it apart from a typical Tuesday night where they binged on Chinese food and movies while wearing sweats. 

“Miss Darcy!” Nadia squealed before running up to her former nanny to hug her. Darcy picked the girl up and twirled around in the air before wrapping her in an embrace.

“What’s up, kid?” Darcy asked.

“When did you get here?” Nadia asked.

“Me and your Uncle Thor and Aunt Jane got here a couple of hours ago,” Darcy said. “But JARVIS said you were taking a nap. And I know better than to wake you up if I don’t have to.”

Nadia pulled a face at the jab but then gasped in excitement. “Guess what! I’m going to be a big sister,” she proudly proclaimed.

Darcy beamed at Nadia and then Steve and Natasha. “Congrats, guys.”

“Thanks,” Steve said with a smile.

“Nadia, you’re only going to be allowed to tell people when we say it’s okay,” Natasha gently warned. “We only want our friends to know, not everyone else.”

“But Miss Darcy is my friend,” Nadia replied.

“I know,” Natasha reassured, “and it’s fine that you told her. But from now on, you can’t tell people without our permission.”

“But Mama, that was going to be my show and tell when I got back to school,” Nadia whined. 

“That sounds more like telling and not showing,” Darcy tried to reason. Steve missed her nanny abilities desperately in that moment. She always seemed to have some magical aura around her that led Nadia to see reason when her parents couldn’t convince her of things like baths and naps.

“I was going to show my new shirt,” Nadia argued. “It says ‘big sister.’”

Darcy tilted her head to act like she was thinking about the debate before shaking her head. “No, your parents are right.” Nadia stuck out her bottom lip to pout, and Darcy jostled up and down on her hip. “Hey now, put that away. What do we always say to you when we go outside?”

“Hide your face,” Nadia answered.

“That’s right. And why do we do that?” Darcy asked.

“Because people want to take my picture and they shouldn’t.”

Darcy nodded. “People want to get up in my friends’ business, and that’s not okay. Your Mama and Daddy don’t want the whole world to know that you’re going to have a little brother or sister. They’re not our friends, so they don’t need to know.”

“Brother,” Nadia corrected automatically.

Darcy looked over at Steve and Natasha with a raised eyebrow. “You know for sure?”

“No,” Natasha answered. “She’s just determined.”

Darcy smiled. “Sounds about right.” She reached behind her and grabbed a large white envelope from the dining table. “Merry Christmas, girly.” Nadia opened the envelope and made an appreciative noise at its contents—a pack of stick-on earrings. “Sorry, the only thing open was a convenience store.”

“It’s okay,” Nadia told her. “I like these a lot.”

“The rule is you only get to wear one pair per day. We don’t need mid-dinner costume changes. Only Uncle Tony is allowed to be that dramatic,” Darcy warned. Nadia pointed to a pair of blue stars, and Darcy helped her put them on.

“I need to go show Aunt Pepper,” Nadia announced before scrambling out of Darcy’s arms. Thus began a chain of events of Nadia showing off a gift to one adult and then receiving a present from them. She’d run off to show someone else and get a new surprise. Steve thought that this was perhaps the best way to deal with the gift giving. They’d made a mistake last year of trying to get Nadia to eat her dinner first and then open presents, and it’d turned into a miserable experience for everyone.

In between receiving gifts, Nadia would run over to Steve and lay the latest new toy at his feet for him to protect. Her growing pile included a variety set of tiny bottles of nail polish from Pepper, a child’s sized microscope from Bruce, and accessories for her new dollhouse from Phil and Clint. 

Once the girl had collected all her gifts and her parents had calmed her down from the excitement, the group took their places around the formal dining table. The length of it was decorated with a dark red runner, holly, and white candles that set off a soft glow. It was filled with more food than all of them could eat—Steve and Thor included—and smelled amazing. At least to Steve; he noticed whenever Natasha held her breath as she passed a few of the dishes.

Thankfully, all her new loot acted as a powerful bargaining chip for Nadia to clean her plate. She was usually good at eating just about anything put in front of her, but on special nights like this she grew too distracted to finish her meal and it was a battle to get her to eat half of the food served to her. 

Everyone at the table was talking happily. Thor, Jane, and Darcy were entertaining the others with the tales of their latest adventures on Asgard. In return, members of the team shared how they were now back in action—with the exception of Natasha—and, as Thor usually put it, “told odes of their grand victories.”

Steve noticed throughout dinner that Phil was being exceptionally quiet. He initially chalked the handler’s somberness up to missing his family on the holiday, but the longer the evening went, the more Steve questioned his theory. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who picked up on Phil’s mood. As they cleared dishes, Natasha cornered the two men in a corner of the common floor’s dining room. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Phil’s mouth turned into a hard line. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?” Steve demanded. 

“Because it’s Christmas,” Phil answered, “and this isn’t news of holiday cheer. Besides, it’s just a rumor right now.”

“One that’s been distracting you all night,” Natasha pointed out.

Phil put his hands in pockets and murmured an apology before looking at Steve. “The last time you got big news, you weren’t given the courtesy of finding things out in private, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” Steve replied on instinct. Silently, Steve remembered that it kind of was Phil and Natasha’s fault; their expressions showed the same. They could have let Steve find out about Bucky years ago in private, but hadn’t.

“I can tell you now and let the team know later, or I can tell everyone at the same time,” Phil offered Steve. “Your choice.”

“Does everyone have to know?” Natasha questioned.

“It’s going to directly affect at least half of you,” Phil replied. “And, again, I urge you to hold off until tomorrow. It’s not good news.”

Steve weighed how well he’d handle waiting until the morning with uneasy certainty versus the difficult truth. “Just tell us now,” he asked.

Phil took out his cell phone and pulled up a text message. “Buddy of mine works as the Deputy White House Chief of Staff. His position requires him to work closely with Congress on issues, and a few hours ago he sent me this.” Phil turned the screen towards Steve and Natasha. _Congress investigating J. Barnes. Treason?_

The words slammed into Steve’s gut. “What good is it to charge a dead man with treason?” he asked.

“They wouldn’t have to charge him,” Natasha said. “A hearing alone, especially a very public one, would get enough dirt on James’s name to tarnish it forever.”

Phil nodded. “They could posthumously strip him of all commendations and recognitions. It would cause memorials to be removed and both your reputations to take a severe hit.”

Steve shook his head and fought to control his anger. “He died thirty years ago. We were supposed to be the only people who knew about this. How does Congress even have the evidence to threaten Bucky with treason?”

“Things have been quiet,” Phil answered. “Probably too quiet for the liking of whoever’s been stirring this pot. It’s entirely possible that they grew frustrated with the team slinking away from the public eye and not chasing down the instigator. This person, or group, may have passed on information to people they knew would be stupid enough to make a circus out of all of this.”

“He was a prisoner of war,” Steve pointed out. “They can’t hold his actions against him.”

“He assassinated one of the nation’s most famous and beloved presidents,” Phil said. “Congress will feel compelled to do something.”

“That was fifty-five years ago,” Steve replied.

“No statute of limitations on murder,” Natasha said. “And certainly no statute of limitations on grudges, especially if you’re a member of Congress. We all know there are senators and representatives who have been a wanting to throw a witch hunt for S.H.I.E.L.D.—especially the Avengers—for years. This is exactly the kind of thing they’ve been waiting for in order to burn us to the ground.”

Phil nodded. “This isn’t going to go well for you,” he told Steve. “They’ll try and hand you every body blow they can think of, especially the ones who disagree with the type of America you’ve proclaimed you represent.”

“The one that isn’t Fox News friendly?” Natasha muttered.

Phil continued, “You’ve gone on record, for instance, voicing your opinion against surveillance technology and how it’s used for this country but continue to work for an agency of spies. They’ll make you, Lieutenant Barnes, and everything the two of you did into a series of lies and hypocritical acts.”

“I’ll testify in James’s defense,” Natasha said.

Steve shook his head. “They’ll do ten times the damage to your reputation.”

“You think I care?” Natasha asked. “They only people whose opinion I worry about were just sitting at a table with us. And even some of them are iffy.”

“And when Nadia takes a U.S. History class in school and hears all about this great villain who was also her dad’s best friend and her mother’s former lover? Going to care then?” Steve questioned.

“Hopefully by then, she’ll have learned from one of us to sift through all the lies until you get to the truth,” Natasha responded before turning to Phil. “I’m testifying, even if I have to do it while in labor.”

“When are they going to take this public?” Steve asked.

“Don’t know,” Phil answered. “Again, it’s still a rumor at this point. If it’s being spearheaded by someone smart, they’ll wait until they have all their eggs in a basket. But if it’s someone power-hungry and desperate? They’ll let this thing loose, fact checking be damned.”

“Can you push your friend for more details?” Steve asked. “I know it’s Christmas and everything.”

“He’s Jewish. If I’m going to interrupt anything, it’ll be Chinese food and a movie.” He paused to shrug. “Stereotypical, but true. I’ll get in touch with him and let you know when I hear more.”

“When are you going to tell the rest of the team?” Natasha asked.

Phil looked through the paneled glass walls and into the kitchen where Tony was staring at his phone. “Willing to bet the other team member who’ll be affected by it just heard. But I can wait until morning to let everyone else in on details.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a summer. My goal for the last couple of months was to move into a new condo and to write my butt off. But then after three months of waiting, the condo fell through. And instead of writing, I spent a good chunk dealing with some health issues and getting balanced back out.
> 
> But things are on the up and up. I'm making the lovely wordbutler assign me writing homework. Which is the only reason you just read a new chapter. I'm feeling better than I have in months, and I'm in the process of putting an offer together on a house I found this week.
> 
> Downside, school is going to start up in a few weeks. And hopefully I will still be moving soon. I cannot promise when the next update will come, only that it will eventually be posted.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and encouragement over the last couple of months. It has meant the world to me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see here. Since the last time I updated, I have: bought a house, moved in, hopefully kicked my nine month long chronic sinusitis, started the school year, and yeah. Everyone has their things, doesn't mean mine is worse/harder/whatever than yours, and I'm not trying to say that at all. These have just been my things.
> 
> But I have new place, a new quiet office, and a new computer to help motivate me to write. And thanks to a day off school, I now have this to show you.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. It is immensely appreciated, you have no idea. And thanks to Kate for helping me through all of this and being my constant cheerleader.

Steve walked out into the frigid air, bottle of Asgardian mead in hand. Tony was already standing out on the balcony staring out to the city’s lit-up skyline. Inside, the Christmas festivities were winding down with everyone going back to their own quarters, including Natasha carrying a sleeping Nadia down to her bed. Steve promised his wife that he would carry down their daughter’s pile of gifts when he returned to their quarters.

After his and Natasha’s conversation with Phil, Steve had kept one eye on Tony. The engineer had spent the rest of the evening uncharacteristically quiet and lost in thought. He’d already been out here on the balcony for the last forty minutes, causing Bruce and Pepper to take turns looking through the windowed wall to check on him before having hushed conversations with each other. Bruce was about to walk outside when Steve laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll talk to him,” he said.

Bruce’s eyebrows rose. “You know what’s going on? Because he wouldn’t tell us.”

Steve didn’t answer the question, just walked through the door. He stood in the shadows, not sure on how to exactly start this conversation. Thankfully, as usual, Tony was the first to open his mouth.

“Guess you heard from someone in DC, too,” Tony said, face still turned towards the skyline.

Steve ambled up to his side and joined up at looking at the skyscrapers lighting up the night. “Phil heard from a source. Passed the news on to me and Natasha.”

“What did his person hear?” Tony asked.

“Possibility of Congress bringing up charges of treason against Bucky,” Steve answered.

Tony took a sip of whatever was in his glass tumbler. “I’ve waited decades for some kind of justice against that man. And now I’ll probably have to settle for bumbling legislators arguing about things only to stroke their own egos,” he said bitterly.

“Buck and Howard were friends, you know,” Steve said.

Tony scoffed. “Friends don’t murder each other.”

Steve wanted to tell him tales of how Bucky and Howard would make bets on who could get the most dames to dance with them, bicker about sniper rifles, and stay up too late staring into campfires, each battling their own inner demons. “He didn’t murder him on purpose,” Steve argued, but he knew Tony wouldn’t understand what he was trying to say as soon as the words left his mouth.

“He ripped the steering wheel out of the car, watched it flip and catch fire, and still put bullets in my parents. Sounds pretty on purpose to me.”

Steve took his own sip of liquor at that. He knew a report on Howard’s death was in the file of information Natasha and Phil had spent years putting together. He remembered sitting in the DC diner, looking at Peggy’s handwritten order that things be made to look like an accident, Howard was drunk while driving on icy roads. Nothing more than that. For the thousandth time, he wondered if Peggy knew who the dreaded Winter Soldier really was. Surely someone—Phil, Fury, Natasha—knew if S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever investigated into his identity, but Steve was too scared to ask. What if they did know? What if they knew who Bucky was when he was still alive and didn’t bother to do anything? Did Peggy realize who it was? Had she tried? 

“You’re probably going to testify on his behalf, right?” Tony asked. The question came with the first instance of the engineer looking Steve in the eye for the last two hours.

“Yes,” Steve answered honestly.

Tony shook his head. “You even know what all he did?”

“It wasn’t him,” Steve argued. Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Steve cut him off. “If Congress charged Bruce for treason for actions that the Other Guy did, you wouldn’t do the same thing I am?”

“It’s not the same thing,” Tony countered. “The Hulk isn’t an assassin.”

“He’s still killed people,” Steve responded. 

“But it wasn’t murder.”

“Bucky wasn’t in control of his actions. I’m sure of it,” Steve said. “They manipulated him, wiped his memories, brainwashed him, something. Natasha said they did the same thing to her.”

“Then how can you trust either one of them to be honest and truthful?” Tony questioned. On instinct, Steve felt his body draw up to his full height and his face turn into something hard. Tony grimaced. “That’s not entirely—look, it’s late. We’re both really touchy about this. Let’s not end the holiday with a huge fight.”

“Just wait to have it another day?” Steve asked tightly. Tony shrugged and started to walk away, but Steve called after him. “You gonna testify against him?”

“If asked? Yeah.”

* * *

The New Year rang in and still no word from Phil’s contacts in DC. Steve and Tony still hadn’t finished their discussion, and from the way they were expertly avoiding each other, it might never happen.

The rest of the world stayed quiet, wrapped in a fresh layer of snow. Clint joked that he was grateful that the bad guys seemed as reluctant to fight in the cold weather as he was, but everyone knew it wouldn’t last. It never did. Granted, things were better with Thor’s sleep chamber powering a defense system against alien invaders, but there were still plenty of people on the Earth’s surface to cause trouble.

“We have to do something about the office,” Natasha reminded him over lunch one day.

Steve looked up from the intelligence report he was reading. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Natasha shrugged. “Not keeping a newborn in the same room as multiple weapons? Decorating is your job, remember?”

He did. His mind went back five years to Natasha asking how he would decorate a nursery. When she followed up on his advice of yellow walls, he thought she was mocking him. Turned out, she just didn’t consider herself an aficionado at décor and trusted his better judgment.

They hadn’t mastered talking things out yet then. Even these days, it could be a coin toss.

“Do you want to find out if it’s a boy or girl, or have it be a surprise?” Steve asked.

“I don’t like surprises,” Natasha answered.

“Never noticed,” he replied with an easy smile. “You’re, what, fourteen weeks now? How long until we can find out?”

“Bruce told me at sixteen with Nadia because of the genetic testing.”

Steve felt his stomach churn at those two words. “If we fought hard to keep your cloned DNA out of the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists then, do we even have a chance to make sure things can stay quiet when my genome is involved?” he asked. “Scientists have been trying to get their hands on my DNA for decades. I don’t want our kid—“

“One mess at a time,” Natasha said, cutting him off. “Besides, maybe your body won’t let the super soldier genes passed on. Maybe just plain old Steve Rogers.”

“Then be prepared to listen to a lot of wheezing.” She smiled at that. He knew she was just trying to placate him right now, and he was grateful for it. Certainly she was wondering which of her own genetic enhancements the baby might inherit. 

“Let’s get out of here for a bit,” Natasha offered.

“Nadia’s preschool starts back up on Monday. You want to pull her out?”

“And have her be all distraught and in mourning? No,” Natasha answered. “But we could go out to your place in Brooklyn for a week. Tell everyone to leave us alone for a few days, and while they’re at it, they can revamp the office into something baby-proof.”

“You seem to enjoy bossing everyone around,” Steve pointed out.

“Not nearly as much as you like taking orders,” Natasha replied with a smirk.

They spent the next few hours packing and making arrangements. Natasha handled the conversation with Tony about some minor reconstruction on what would become the baby’s nursery, and from what Steve overheard, their conversation seemed pleasant enough. Steve didn’t think Tony would go so far as to rig something terrible or do shoddy construction in a nursery as some act of revenge, but Steve knew what it felt like to have pain gnawing at you for years and years. 

When they picked Nadia up at pre-school and began the drive over the bridge to Brooklyn, the young girl bounced in her car seat with excitement. “We’re going to see Zelda!”

“Not today,” Steve said, making sure his tone was gentle. The thought of being torn apart from her best friend could send his daughter into an understandable tailspin.

“Then where are we going?” Nadia questioned, confusion evident in her voice.

“To Daddy’s little apartment. You remember that place, right?” Natasha asked.

“I think so,” Nadia answered. “Why are we going there?”

“Uncle Tony, Aunt Pepper, and their friends are going to help get the baby’s room ready,” Steve replied. “Plus, Mama and Daddy need a little break from the city. We’re not going to use any screens while we’re there.”

“But what if I want to talk to someone?” Nadia whined.

Natasha twisted in her seat to look at their daughter. “Expecting a lot of phone calls?”

“I don’t know,” Nadia answered with a shrug.

Natasha faced the front of the car again. “I thought we wouldn’t deal with that kind of attitude for another decade,” she muttered. “And before you even open your mouth, don’t you dare say the word ‘clone.’”

The quietness of the small apartment wasn’t as restful as Steve had hoped. The silence and calm cloyed at him. Also, it easily bored Nadia, which meant she asked a hundred questions an hour about whatever crossed her mind. Steve and Natasha took turns trying to entertain her as best they could and got after her when her huffing and puffing at being bored became a little too melodramatic. 

The relative silence was broken on the fifth day of their stay, two days before they were to return to the Tower. Steve came into the living room after tucking Nadia into bed to find Melinda May sitting at the small kitchenette table. “Captain,” she greeted.

“Why do I have a feeling that you’re not here for girl time with Natasha?” Steve asked.

Melinda smiled dangerously. “Because you’ve been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent long enough to know better.”

* * *

“You’ve been on this, too?” Steve asked. It was the following morning in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. May had stayed pretty tight-lipped during her visit to the Brooklyn apartment, promising more information at the morning briefing. After she’d left, Steve and Natasha had decided their attempt at respite in the borough was officially screwed over. Tony was done doing whatever he needed to do to the apartment, and the morning would mean moving back to the city.

“You guys weren’t the only ones dealing with the elementary school hostage situation in Moscow,” May reminded him, not that Steve needed to hear it. The number of people for their usual morning meeting had doubled with the presence of May’s team crammed around the table. “I’m not going to just walk away from something like that, especially a situation involving kids and hostage situations.”

Steve knew there was something more to that statement, but there was no way he was going to ask Nick Fury’s wife what she meant . “What did you find?”

Agent Triplett motioned at the holoscreen and pulled up a satellite picture. The image zoomed continuously in until it revealed a shot of what looked to be an abandoned warehouse. “This is fifty kilometers outside of Kiev. We checked it out a couple of days ago, but couldn’t get access inside. While the building looks old and empty, there’s a brand new lock on the door that can only be opened with a certain individual’s DNA.”

“Whose?” Phil asked.

“Yours,” the young British woman, Jemma, said while looking at Steve. “We were able to recognize that the genetic sequence belong to you, and we tried our best to replicate it to gain access, but as I’m sure you are aware, doing so is virtually impossible. We’re going to need the real thing if we want to get inside.”

“How did you find this place?” Clint asked.

“Through the hostage’s background,” May answered.

“We didn’t find anything,” Phil replied, a look of faint confusion on his face.

“That’s because you don’t have me,” a young woman told him while grinning triumphantly. Steve remembered that she’d introduced herself as Skye, and he also remembered overhearing a number of stories from when May came over to talk and drink with Natasha and Maria about how the hacker was as good at getting them out of trouble as she was at getting them into it in the first place.

“What little we found on his history led us to this location,” May explained. “Took us a while to get there, but sounds like we still made more headway than you.”

Phil bristled at the jab, but it was Natasha who leaned forward in her seat and spoke up. “It was a storage facility,” she remarked.

“You were there?” Phil questioned.

Natasha shook her head. “Its codename changed every few years, but I remember seeing packages being sent to and from there on cargo manifests. It was associated with the KGB.”

“What’s so important about a storage facility?” Bruce asked.

Tony looked at him with an expression of mock insult. “How many times have we watched Indiana Jones movies? Only the really cool things are kept in huge storage warehouses.”

“We’re not looking for the Ark of the Covenant,” May pointed out.

“What are we looking for?” Steve asked.

This time it was the Scotsman’s turn—Fitz—to manipulate the projection hovering over the conference room table. “My dwarves—uh, robotic sensor drones—weren’t able to get inside. There are no windows on the exterior, so they couldn’t peek in either. But they weren’t able to detect any thermal signatures, nor were there any sings of explosives or other types of ordinances.”

“Just because you can’t see a booby trap on a scan doesn’t mean it’s not there,” Clint said.

“What do you want to do?” May asked Phil.

The handler rolled his lips as he thought it over for a moment. “This DNA scan, how much of a tissue sample are they asking for?”

“Only a single drop of blood,” the British biochemist answered. “I understand your concern, Agent Coulson, but it is unlikely that Captain Rogers’s genetic sequence could be fully analyzed with such a small sample.”

“Hasn’t stopped people from trying before,” Bruce replied. “And it usually blows up in your face when you do. Trust me.”

Phil looked at Steve. “It’s your call,” he said. “We can bury this or chase it, but it’s your decision.”

But it wasn’t just his. He turned in his chair to look at Natasha. She was still staring at the readouts from Fitz’s drones that had scanned the warehouse. “What do you think?” he asked quietly.

“I think it’s trouble,” she answered. “But I also think neither of us are very good at walking away from obvious traps.”

He gave a small smile in agreement. “When do we leave?”

They were on the ground twelve hours later. Natasha stayed behind in what May’s team called The Bus—their suped up 747 jet—to watch over from afar. The scientists, Skye, and Banner stayed back with them. Steve led a team of Clint, Tony, May, and Triplett to approach the warehouse. He signaled those on the ground to fan out while Tony hovered in the air a few hundred meters above them as look out, his blue repulsors barely visible in the night sky.

Just as Simmons and Fitz promised, the decrepit warehouse had what looked to be a state-of-the-art locking mechanism on the main door. As Steve approached, a panel slid open to reveal the tip of a needle. He eyed the device a second before pulling his left glove of with his teeth. “Attempting to unlock the door,” he announced over comms. Slowly, he reached his hand out towards the device. A laser grid appeared over his index finger, and when it apparently moved into the right spot, the color changed from red to green and the needle sprung up and pricked his finger. He hissed, not out of pain or surprise but just habit, he supposed. Steve pulled his hand back and sucked on the pad of his finger until it stopped bleeding before pulling his glove back on. As he did so, the device beeped, and he heard a hissing sound as the mechanism unlocked. “We’re good,” he said to the others. “Everyone on me, except Stark. You keep an eye out.”

“Got it, Cap,” Tony replied.

Once Clint, May, and Triplett were at his side, he slowly led them into the building. They’d made it five steps when Steve’s enhanced hearing picked up a whirring noise. “The dwarves,” May explained. “Let them do recon for us.”

Steve nodded but didn’t feel great about the idea. He could taste the bitter tinge of adrenaline in his mouth. This could be nothing, he knew, or it could be everything. Most likely something in between. He tried to keep his mind off Bucky and wondering if his best friend had ever stepped foot inside the warehouse, and what connection it held to Steve’s life. 

“Place is clear,” Natasha spoke in his ear. “No power being drawn anywhere save for a room in the sub-basement in the building’s northwest corner.”

“Stark, we can cover lookout duty from here,” Phil said. “Join the team in case they need backup for people we’re not seeing or whatever’s inside.”

“Understood,” Tony answered. And a second later, Steve heard him land hard on the ground outside. May took point and led the others down the stairs off to their right. Steve would’ve preferred to be in the lead position, but her head was probably clearer than his at the moment.

True to the drones’ readings, the warehouse was empty. The floor they’d entered on was completely barren. Steve could make out lines on the floor where rows upon rows of metal shelves had stood and the track marks from machinery like forklifts once roamed. Down in the basement, the space was sectioned off. There were hallways and corridors with darkened rooms off to the side. As they walked by, Clint and Triplett did quick checks of doors to make sure the rooms were completely empty and they weren’t bypassing any clues. Tony kept his helmet shut, which told Steve that he was using JARVIS to help him complete scans to verify what Fitz’s droids had found. 

At the end of the corridor, the light on the end of May’s gun revealed an identical locking mechanism from before. May turned expectantly towards Steve while the others fanned out to surround them. “Well?” she asked.

Steve fought a sigh. “Simmons, you said they couldn’t do anything with one drop of blood. What about two?”

“Captain, the odds of finding—“

“He’s being funny,” Natasha said to interrupt the scientist. “You sure about this?” she asked him.

“Nope. You?”

“We’ve come this far,” she told him.

He pulled off his left glove again, his finger already healed from the previous pinprick. Over comms, Phil issued an unnecessary order for Fitz and Tony to keep an eye out for any changes to make sure nothing literally blew up in their faces. Steve let his finger be pricked once more, and immediately, the door hissed open. Once it did, Steve knew that this room was indeed different.

Despite apparently drawing power, the lights weren’t on. They slowly moved into the room. In the darkness, Steve could make out a chain hanging from the ceiling. His hand reached out toward it. “Stark?”

“Pull it,” Tony answered.

Steve did so, and the room because awash in a yellow light. To Steve’s left was a chair similar to what you’d see in a dentist’s office, except there was an arm attached to it and huge electrical cords powering it. A number of screens were nearby. Tony moved toward it to start taking readings. But Steve’s attention was quickly drawn to what was standing in the center of the far wall.

Steve closed the ten feet between himself and the large metal cylinder quickly. The metal tube held a door with a small window at eye level. Steve turned the wheel to unlock and open the hatch; it creaked loudly as he pulled it wide. He saw there were a number of vents lining the inner walls of the tube, but his attention was quickly drawn to something silver laying in the bottom of the chamber.

He picked it up and his stomach sank as he ran his thumb over the name on the dog tag. 

_JAMES B. BARNES_


	8. Chapter 8

It took nearly four days to go through all the evidence found in the warehouse. Steve wondered if things would’ve moved faster if there’d been more to find. May was kind enough to let her team stay and help go through and analyze things. There’d been some debate about whether they should collect everything they could and take it to a S.H.I.E.LD. base or study objects on site. After too many discussions for Steve’s liking, they were given permission to keep whatever they found where they were and analyze in the warehouse.

Tony and Skye delved through technology to gather what files they could. Bruce and Simmons studied the cryo chamber and the large piece of machinery that looked like the dentist chair from hell. Fitz used his drones to carefully inspect the remainder of the warehouse to verify that it was as empty as it looked. Clint, Trip, Mack, and other agents kept lookout. Someone had led them to this location, and they could very well end up being sitting ducks. May and Phil—huddled in whispered conversations in the corner—wanted to make sure they weren’t making themselves easy targets.

Two days after they’d set up shop, Natasha flew in. Steve watched her as she studied the surroundings. “Been here before?” he asked.

“The machinery looks familiar, but not the location,” she answered. “If I’ve been here before, I don’t remember it.”

Steve knew Natasha’s memory was nearly as crisp and reliable as his. Sure, she could’ve been blindfolded during transport or even a young girl at the time, but if she said she didn’t remember it, then he believed her. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. “What about this?” he asked while pulling Bucky’s dog tags out of his pocket just long enough for her to register what the object in his hand was.

She shook her head slightly. “He never wore those,” she said quietly. “We weren’t allowed anything that held meaning to who we were before we were pulled into the program. Do they know you have that?”

“No,” Steve said. “I know I need to have them catalog it and see if there’s any clues on it, but it’s the first piece of him—Bucky, not this Winter Soldier—I’ve held in a long time.”

Natasha stared at him for a moment before nodding in either sympathy or understanding. “Where did you find it?” she asked.

Steve looked over at the cryo chamber. “The floor of that.”

He heard Natasha let out a little puff of anger. “He hated that thing, but that chair was the worst for all of us.”

“What does it do?” Steve questioned.

“Wipes your memories. Gives you new ones. I was taken too young to remember anything about what life was like before the Red Room. Or at least, I hope that’s true. They could’ve just as easily erased my childhood from my mind.” Natasha didn’t pause at the declaration. To anyone else, Steve knew that the statement was heart-breaking. It was to him. But to Natasha, it was life. “For me, and the other Black Widow agents, they also used it to give us false memories. We’d wake up as ballerinas or graduate students or whoever they needed us to be for a new mission. New identity and one hell of a headache.”

“And Bucky?”

“It was different for him,” Natasha replied. “Nearly all of his missions were covert; he didn’t require a cover identity. When he was put in the chair, it was because he was starting to remember things, and that wasn’t acceptable.”

Steve swallowed as he turned towards the apparatus. “What’s it like? The procedure?”

“Telling you won’t help anyone,” Natasha said. “Phil probably wants me to help out.” Natasha ran her hand along his arm as she walked past him. He double checked to make sure she hadn’t grifted the dog tags off his person, but they were still secure in his pocket. She hadn’t explained the nature of the cryo chamber, but Bruce and Simmons had figured that out quickly enough. Their theory was that it was a cold storage unit that would freeze Bucky and prevent him from aging until he was needed for a mission was confirmed by a number of written logs Tony and Skye had uncovered.

The series of computer servers were enormous and ancient. It was apparently delicate work to collect and decode what scant files were kept there. The text files had been relatively easy, according to the tech gurus. The most time-consuming part was cracking the encryption being used. Once that was done, the files were copied to Tony’s private server—recently redesigned and fortified after it was hacked by whomever was leaving breadcrumbs. After that, Phil and May did their best to verify the files’ authenticity. So far, everything seemed to be checking out. Phil was limiting exactly what and how much Steve was allowed to read. Apparently the handler didn’t want to reenact when Steve had run out of the diner in D.C.

At the end of the third day, they all wearily stood around a cramped conference table aboard May’s plane. “What do we know?” Phil asked.

Skye swiped at the air above the table, and an inventory filled the space. “Number of logs, most of which we’re still going through. Nothing new so far.”

“Probably on purpose,” Natasha commented. “Whoever is doing this doesn’t seem keen on leaving behind obvious clues.”

“Do we know who is doing it? And why?” Trip asked.

Phil shook his head. “We have a list of suspects, some of whom have been reportedly dead for years, but who knows if that’s actually true. As for motive, your guess is as good as ours. What else did you and Tony find?” he asked Skye.

“Some video files, most of them corrupted, but there are one or two that still work.”

“What do they show?” Steve asked.

The young woman’s mouth opened and closed as she paused to find a way to state things. “From what we can tell, they were test runs of the equipment.”

Steve turned to Phil. “I want to see them.”

Phil grimaced. “It’s not going to help anything.”

“It can’t be worse than my imagination,” Steve replied.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Natasha warned quietly.

Phil stared him down a moment before sighing. “I’ll forward you the video files when we’re on our way back home. Fitz, did you find anything?”

“Nothing,” the engineer answered. “The rest of the warehouse is suspiciously clean.”

May shook her head. “It doesn’t feel right. With all these breadcrumbs we’ve been chasing, it feels like they should’ve left something behind.”

Steve felt the weight of the dog tags in his pocket. It was more than likely selfish of him to hide it away for himself, but he’d felt like he’d earned that. But if it meant finding out who was doing this or getting more information about his best friend…

The dog tags fell to the table with a clank. The occupants of the conference room stared at the object for a moment, trying to put together the puzzle pieces. Tony spoke first. “What the hell is that?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” Steve responded.

“And when were you going to tell us about it?”

“When it was necessary,” Steve answered.

Tony’s nostrils flared. “When did you find ‘em?”

“On our first pass through the warehouse. I pocketed them.”

“Are you shitting me?” Tony yelled. “We’ve been busting our asses for the last few days trying to help you out, and you—“

“Watch it, Tony,” Bruce warned. Tony clamped his jaw shut, spun around and stormed out of the room. Bruce gave a meek, apologetic half-smile. “I’ll go take care of that,” he said as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

Steve looked around the table to see if anyone else wanted to question his actions. Deep down, he knew they had every right to and should do so, but he was too raw about all of this to acknowledge logic.

Phil slowly reached out for the dog tags and passed them over to Simmons. “See if there’s anything you and Fitz can get off of them that might tell us what we’re supposed to do next.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied before she and her lab partner left with the dog tags.

“The rest of you make yourselves comfortable. The Quinjet will remained latched to the Bus and May will fly us all back home,” Phil ordered. “Get some rest.”

Steve stalked off toward the Quinjet attached to the plane’s upper hull. He wished there was a punching bag on board, but that would have to wait until they returned to New York in a few hours. He headed to his ready room and accessed the computer console there, waiting for Phil to keep true to his word about forwarding the video files that had been found.

“You sure you want to watch that?” Natasha asked from the doorway. He hadn’t heard her follow him, but he wasn’t surprised that she’d done so.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because the rest of us can see James for what he became, and you’re still trying to find signs of your best friend,” she answered. “You won’t find them on those videos. That’s just more nightmare fuel.”

Steve hung his head. “Tasha, I have to know what happened to him. It’s my fault he fell from the train. I literally dropped him into this mess.”

Natasha entered the room and ran her fingernails along his scalp. “Watching him being tortured decades ago isn’t going to do anything to help him. He’s gone, Steve. Let him be at peace.”

Steve knew she was right, maybe not about the videos being worse than his nightmares. Those could get pretty awful. But watching the videos wouldn’t do anything to help him or Bucky. It would just make things worse. He sighed and leaned into Natasha’s body, rested his head against her stomach. He forced himself to think about the positive things—Nadia, their unborn child, the relationship they’d built. Reminded himself that the steps he’d walked after Bucky fell from the train weren’t a punishment to make him feel alone forever, but rather the path the put him in a pretty amazing place.

* * *

Steve woke to Natasha poking him in the shoulder. “Let you sleep as long as I could, but we’re running late,” she said. “Get up.”

“Hmm?” he groaned into his pillow, sleep still fogging his mind. “Late for what?”

“Meeting with Bruce and McClellan,” Natasha answered. “Remember?”

Steve sat up and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Double date?”

Natasha snorted. “No. Results from the tests.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve questioned.

Natasha sighed. “I thought super soldiers were supposed to be more coherent. Go get a shower, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Steve mumbled before climbing out of the cocoon of bedding. Under the hot spray of the shower, memories snapped into place and his synapses began firing.

They’d arrived home around noon the day before. They’d picked up Nadia from the McCoys and let the four-year-old decide how’d they’d spend the rest of their Sunday. Nadia had voted for a pillow fort and watching movies. Steve had tried his best to focus on the adventures of Merida and Ariel, but it was a challenge since he’d seen the movies a thousand times and the events and implications of what they’d found in the warehouse weighed on him.

“Is Mama sad?” Nadia’d asked while Natasha left the safety of the sheets, pillows, and Disney to fix some daughter requested pancakes for dinner.

“Why do you think she’s sad, Bug?” Steve asked, suddenly curious if he was so wrapped in his own thoughts that he’d missed how much this was affecting Natasha.

“She keeps playing with my hair,” Nadia answered. “She does that when I’m sad, but right now, I’m not sad. Is she?”

“She just missed you. We both did.” The smile felt as forced as his answer. There was some truth underneath it, sure, but it was a patented placating statement parents gave their kids.

After dinner, they’d read Nadia to sleep before moving back to their own bedroom. “You okay?” Steve’d asked.

“Fine,” Natasha’d answered while changing out of her clothes.

“Nat—“ He hadn’t known what else to say. Just moved into her space and wrapped her up in his arms.

“Is it going to be one of those nights?” she’d asked, her eyes looking dark and glinting with something wild and unfocused. 

He’d felt his pulse quicken. “You up for that?”

“Second trimester hormones are going to work in your favor tonight.”

Steve turned in the shower and let the water beat the shampoo off his scalp. Part of Steve felt like he should be ashamed that it took exhausting himself with sex to shut the thoughts in his brain off long enough to fall asleep, but thankfully, Natasha seemed to be wired the same way.

Quickly, he dried off and dressed. Since it was only a meeting with Bruce and McClellan—two people who had seen both Steve and Natasha at their worst—he didn’t mind walking out of the bedroom slightly disheveled. Besides, since they’d just come back from a mission, Phil had cleared their schedule for the rest of the day.

Steve and Natasha took the elevator down to the medical floor in Stark Tower. “You know, you never answered my question if you’re okay,” Steve pointed out. “Nadia was worried about you since you were playing with her hair but she wasn’t the sad one.”

“Let me get through this appointment, and I’ll let you know,” Natasha answered.

“Should I be worried?” Steve asked.

“We’re having a kid with our weird medical anomaly bodies. And the the only way we’re able to do that is because of a magic pill from an alien queen. No, Steve, what could go wrong?”

The worries Steve had been fighting for years, ever since he and Natasha had considered having a child of their own, settled back on his shoulders. He didn’t know what to wish for: a child without their bioenhancements who could inherit Steve’s penchant for every illness under the sun, or an enhanced child. One who aged too slowly and buried too many friends and family. One who would become a target because there was finally another Super Soldier in the world. At least after today, Steve would only have one scenario to worry about.

“As you know, Natasha had the procedure done a week ago where we collected a genetic sample from the fetus while you all left for something above my clearance level,” Doctor McClellan greeted. “I had to wait for Doctor Banner to return in order to confirm the results.”

Steve noticed Bruce cringed at how the obstetrician had used the formal title for his name, but now wasn’t the time to delve into the history of their relationship. “First,” Bruce said, “if you want to know gender…”

Steve and Natasha looked at each other, and she nodded. “The eternal contentment of a four-year-old rests on that. Better find out now,” Natasha said.

Bruce smiled. “No need to worry—it’s a boy.”

Steve squeezed Natasha’s hand, smiling at the news. She shared his happiness for a second before turning back to the scientists. “What else can you tell us?”

Bruce hit a few keys in the embedded controls of the table, and an image began to float in the air. Steve immediately flashed back to when Natasha was pregnant with Nadia. Back then, this genetic test had been performed to determine paternity.

“We’ll be blunt,” Bruce said. “We see markers associated with both of your genetic enhancements.”

“He’ll be a Super Soldier?” Natasha asked. She tried to sound neutral, but Steve heard the fear in her tone.

“Only if he wants to be,” McClellan answered, as always a voice of reason. “But, yes, physically, he’ll be capable of that.”

“Who’s getting a report of this?” Natasha asked.

“Why?” Bruce asked.

“We want to keep this quiet,” Steve said. “We don’t want him to become a target. At least, not any more than he already will be because he’s our kid.”

“We have to report it to Phil,” Bruce answered. “That’s protocol. But I’m sure he can find some way to ramp up the security level on the report and then bury it in a hole no one will ever find.”

Steve knew that Phil would certainly try, but he also knew that if someone wanted to find something badly enough, they could. Or they could just take the baby without knowing for sure. He ran a hand over his face in an attempt to ignore his worries.

“With his genetic profile, we can estimate what he’ll look like,” Bruce offered. “If you’re interested.”

Steve shook his head. “Let’s save some surprises.”

With that, Bruce left Natasha and Steve a data chip with the baby’s genome and genetic analysis on it and stepped out. “Let’s do an ultrasound, shall we?” McClellan asked.

For the next forty minutes, the doctor scanned and imaged the baby from all angles. She started at his head and worked her way down his little body. Steve silently marveled at the view. There were few things left in the world that surprised his old mind and body, but this was one of them. Or maybe it was just the awe of seeing his child for the first time. Or rather, the first time when he looked like a baby and not a blob of light.

“He’s an active little fella,” McClellan commented. “You feel him moving yet?” Natasha shook her head. “You’ll feel it sooner this time since you know what to expect. And you might want to be grateful you can’t just yet. This little bugger doesn’t want to stay still.”

The doctor gave Natasha clean bill of health and scheduled her for her next appointment in four weeks.

“Want me to go get Nadia?” Natasha asked.

“After we eat lunch,” Steve suggested.

They walked to a hole in the wall ramen place a few blocks away from the Tower. Settling themselves into the back booth, they did their best to hide away from nosy lunch eaters. Thankfully, the restaurant employees were too busy—and honestly couldn’t care less—to make a fuss over the famous super heroes dining at the establishment.

“We haven’t really talked about all of this,” Steve started. “Just enough to get us through the day or until we got bounced around to the next clue.”

Natasha studied the Asian décor for a moment before responding. “Just when I think I can finally bury that part of my life, it comes back to try and ruin me again.”

“Do you have any idea who’s doing this or why?” Steve asked.

She shook her head. “There are official lists of who’s dead or incapacitated, but those could always be a lie. Anyone in your past? Someone tied to James?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answered. “HYDRA’s long gone. There may have been a plant in the SSR or the army tied to someone else or another organization who had it out for me. Maybe they’ve somehow passed that vendetta down a couple generations to now.”

“Dare we open the Pandora’s box of what files Skye and Tony found?” Natasha questioned. 

“I don’t know,” Steve said with a shrug. “I want to know what happened to Bucky and who’s dragging us through this, but I also want to bury it in a hole and hope it implodes on itself.”

“So what do we do?” she asked.

He sighed. “Leave it. If they want to keep grabbing our attention, I’m sure they’ll find a way to do it.”

“And Congress?” Natasha pushed. “What if they decide to try and drag James through the mud?”

“That’s one fight I’m more than willing to take on.”

An hour later, they walked back into their apartment, Nadia in tow. The girl ran into their home and immediately began to dart around, starting to leave a wave of destruction in her path. “What are you looking for, Bug?” Steve asked.

“Tomorrow is show-and-tell day, and I forgot,” she exclaimed, her arms flapping around in frustration, a trait Steve blamed on her beloved Uncle Tony.

“Daddy and I got something today that might work,” Natasha said while reaching into her bag.

“A new toy?” the girl asked excitedly.

“Better,” Steve said.

Natasha pulled out one of the images McClellan had printed off during the appointment. “The doctor took pictures of the baby today,” she said. “And guess what?”

“What?” Nadia asked, half-distracted while she studied the black and white picture.

Natasha looked expectantly at Steve and nodded. With her permission, he announced, “It’s a boy. You’re going to have a little brother.”

The girl gasped excitedly. “That’s what I wanted!” She ran to hug Natasha’s legs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mama.”

“In order to have a boy, you need to thank your Daddy,” Natasha said.

The girl flew towards Steve, and he caught her in his arms just in time to hold her up against his broad chest. “Thank you, Daddy. But why are you the only one who can make boys?”

Steve shot an ungrateful look over Nadia’s shoulder at his smirking wife. “Just the way things happen.”

“What’s his name?” Nadia asked. 

“That’s up to Daddy,” Natasha answered. “I named you Nadezhda; it’s his turn to name the next baby. We made that deal years ago.”

“Back when we thought we didn’t think we’d have another kid,” Steve pointed out.

Natasha shrugged a shoulder. “Still your turn.”

“You should name him Olly,” Nadia suggested.

“But won’t that be confusing if you and your best friend have brothers with the same name?” Steve asked.

“Nope,” Nadia answered.

“I’ll think about it,” Steve said.


	9. Chapter 9

It started on a Tuesday. The Monday of that week was President’s Day, and the media had been consumed with not talking about Washington or Lincoln but rather President Kennedy, who was one of Bucky’s believed kills.

Phil had received word from Senator Isaiah Ransom of Illinois that the committee he was a member of—the Senate Intelligence Committee—had scheduled a hearing about Bucky’s actions. At least as Steve understood it, the group of fifteen senators couldn’t do anything officially or legally, but they could ruin his best friend’s reputation and initiate a domino effect that could strip Bucky of his honors and good name.

Phil had pleaded with Senator Ransom to keep the hearing private, but he’d been outvoted. Four of the committee members had upcoming elections and wanted to look strong in their home states. Steve was sickened that tarnishing and embarrassing a prisoner of war counted as “looking strong” in this day and age, and part of him—the short-tempered side—was more than ready to break away from his usual political silence and endorse whoever was running against the incumbents in those states. He thought these people were disgusting cowards to the worst degree.

Half the team had been called before the Senate committee. They didn’t know for sure what order they’d appear in or what day they’d be questioned, so most of them just took up temporary residence in the nation’s capital. Tony, naturally, owned a brownstone—one of his many properties scattered around the globe. Phil and Clint stayed in private quarters at the Triskellion reserved for higher-level agents. Steve and Natasha elected to take Sam up on the offer to stay at his house. Since Sam was a member of the unofficial B-team of Avengers, security around his house was tight but mostly unnoticeable unless you were trained to know what to look for.

“Uncle Sam!” Nadia greeted as she ran into their host’s arms. “We get to have a sleepover.”

“I haven’t had a tea party lately, so I’m glad you’re here,” Sam said.

They ate dinner and then Natasha took Nadia to the guest bedroom to settle her into her little palette bed on the floor.

“You sure you want us here?” Steve asked as he helped load the dishwasher. “Last time Natasha and I visited, we weren’t the greatest of houseguests.”

“You’d just found out that your best friend didn’t die in the war and you were trying to process it. It’s fine,” Sam answered. “Wouldn’t have made the offer if I didn’t want you here.”

“This visit may not be any easier than the last time,” Steve admitted.

Sam nodded sympathetically. “I remember when they investigated Riley’s death. I know it’s not the same level as what this is, but it still sucked. You guys do what you need to do. And if you want Little Bit out of your hair for a while, just say the word. I’ve got nieces and nephews forty minutes away, and I love going to the zoo.”

Steve smiled. “Just be prepared for all kinds of animal facts if you take her there.”

“She watching a lot of nature shows?”

Steve shook his head. “Bruce takes her on trips, but she only remembers half of the facts correctly. And that’s on a good day.”

Sam grinned. “And I’m sure it’s too cute for you to correct her.”

A shrug was Steve’s only answer.

The next morning, Sam whisked Nadia away for a day of zoo and museum adventures. “We’ll be back when things are closed or one of us needs a nap.”

“It won’t be me,” Nadia told him.

“You’re probably right,” Sam laughed.

Steve and Natasha settled on the couch and turned on CSPAN. Phil had offered to come over and watch with them as some kind of congressional translator, but both Steve and Natasha agreed that his time was better served working his contacts and seeing what the gossip was in the political channels. 

Rumor had it that if things in the hearing got interesting, the live feed would be carried on more popular and prominent channels. Steve hoped things stayed boring but knew it wouldn’t. As Tony would say, there was too much sex appeal, scandal, and celebrities involved.

Speaking of Tony, he was making his entrance into the chamber as the hearing’s first witness. While his outfit—a perfectly tailored suit that cost thousands, immaculately styled hair, and red-tinted sunglasses—bespoke of his typical bravado, his tight facial expression screamed the opposite. There were no kisses blown at the cameras or politicians this Tuesday morning. It was the most serious Steve had seen Tony be during a public appearance. He had his game face on that was usually saved for battle and tucked away behind the front shield of his helmet.

“We could still go for the afternoon session,” Natasha offered.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t want the cameras to cut to us for reaction shots.”

“Worried your poker face won’t hold up?”

Steve knew her quip was meant to be a joke, but they both knew all too well that he wasn’t always greatest at reining in his emotions.

Natasha wove her fingers between his, and he forced himself to exhale as he clasped her hand. “I hate this,” he whispered. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

“I know,” Natasha sympathized.

The camera zoomed in on Tony as he rose to swear to tell the truth when answering the questions the Senators asked. Pepper was seated behind Tony and to his left. Steve was almost certain the Stark Industries CEO was supposed to be the keynote speaker at a conference in Brazil this evening. The thought made him wonder for the first time how Tony felt about all of this. “You see Bruce in the crowd?” he asked.

Natasha shook her head. “He’s staying at the brownstone. Said people get nervous when they’re in the room with him. Afraid all of the flashing lights of the press might cause him to lose it and bring down the whole Capitol building.”

“Think it might be the politics more than the press,” Steve commented dryly.

“Barely,” Natasha agreed.

A trio of three sharp raps sounded as the committee’s chair, Ben Thompson of Minnesota, gaveled the session into order. “Good morning,” he greeted. “We’re here this morning to start an investigation into the actions of James Buchanan Barnes, who is believed to be the man behind the actions of the former USSR agent Winter Soldier. I would like to remind the members of the committee that this hearing is being broadcast to the public and would instruct that sensitive and confidential information is not to be shared. The senator from Rhode Island will be the first to ask questions. Senator Avery, you have fifteen minutes of time.”

Natasha made an unpleasant noise, and Steve looked at her questioningly. “Phil said Avery would be one of the staunchest at making a point. And not in our favor.”

“Thank you, Senator Thompson,” Avery said. The man looked to be in his seventies, heavy-set with white hair and thick black glasses. “Mister Stark, would you please share with us the details of how your parents died?”

“What specifically are you wanting me to talk about?” Tony asked. Despite his usual challenging nature, there was no humor in his voice when he asked the question.

“What was the cause of death for Mister and Missus Stark?”

“Car accident,” Tony answered. 

“I’d remind you, sir, that you’re under oath,” Senator Avery warned.

“And I’d remind you that we’re not supposed to talk about the super secret stuff,” Tony shot back. “Not sure the kiddos at home would be able to handle it.”

The senator sighed into his microphone, obviously dejected that his dazzling opening salvo had fired duds. “I offer to the committee reports from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s archive that were made public late last night.”

Natasha whispered a string of swears in Russian as she reached for her phone. Steve saw on her screen that she was texting Phil. He had a pretty good feeling that she was just getting her honest opinion out of her system with their handler before she sent a barely more polite response to Fury himself.

“Mind if I get a copy of that?” Tony asked. An aide quickly traversed the sea of camera people sitting between Tony’s table and the bank of Senators to give him a copy of the file. Tony flipped through it with tight lips. Steve was willing to wager from the expression on the man’s face that the paperwork wasn’t anything Tony hadn’t seen before. “Well, if we’re letting cats out of the bag, then my parents weren’t killed by the car accident. They were both shot, and then the car crashed.”

“Whose idea was it to cover up the murders as a car accident caused either by slick roads or your father’s false inebriation?” Avery asked.

“Senator, you’re old enough to have known my father,” Tony replied. “We both know he was probably drunk at the time. But no, that wasn’t what caused the car to crash. As for whose call it was to cover it up, it appears that decision was at least started or approved by former S.H.I.E.L.D. director Peggy Carter. But since she passed a few years back, we don’t have any way to ask her and know for sure. Unless you’ve unlocked that treasure trove of paperwork, too.”

“Not yet,” the senator replied. “You’re a gun expert, yes?”

“Well, I did manufacture them for a couple decades,” Tony quipped.

Senator Thompson rapped his gavel once. “I know Mister Stark has a reputation to maintain, but let’s try and get through these questions as straightforward as possible, please.”

“Yes, I’m a gun expert,” Tony ceded.

“What can you tell us about the weapon that was used in your parents’ murder?” Senator Avery asked.

“I can tell you first of all that I’ve never seen it nor the bullets fired from it,” Tony answered. “But from this report…” He paused to flip to a certain page, which just showed Steve that he’d seen the file before. Probably had the whole thing memorized. “The bullets were Soviet made and lacked rifling.”

“Have you heard of bullets like this before?” Avery questioned.

“Only in conspiracy theory chatrooms.”

“And what were those theories about?”

“Can we please not bring in Internet crazy to a Senate hearing?” an older woman interrupted. Steve mentally brought up the Senate Committee cheat sheet that Phil had made for him. The woman was named Eula Huff from Alabama. Phil summarized her as a Senate pillar, famous for not dealing with anyone’s bullshit and determined to actually get things done in Congress. Steve already wished he could clone her. “It’s questionable enough that we have classified documents released to the public just in time for this. Let’s not bring in unfounded ideas, too,” she continued.

“I agree,” Senator Thompson said. “Senator Avery, please keep your questions factual.”

“Fine,” Avery muttered. “Mister Stark, have you ever heard of the Winter Soldier?”

“Heard of, yes,” Tony answered. “But if we’re sticking to facts, I think that’s about all I can say.”

“And have you heard of him being connected to another incidents or events?” Avery asked.

“A number of assassinations of people in power and prominence around the world,” Tony answered. “Most of them were enemies of the now-defunct Soviets.”

Senator Ransom cleared his throat. “Mister Chairperson, I would also ask that the gentleman from Rhode Island keep his questions to facts, not theories and possibilities. It is a dangerous line to walk when considering how impactful these events have been on not only America’s history, but the world’s.”

“I agree,” Thompson remarked. “Senator Avery, if you would please—“

Avery waved him off with a frown. “Mister Stark, what were you told about your parents’ death?”

“Initially, that they were killed in a car accident,” Tony answered, his voice taking a slightly more monotonous tone, as if he was too busy remembering that moment to be mindful of keeping his audience entertained.

“And who informed you of their death?” Avery asked.

“Obadiah Stone,” Tony replied. “He was my father’s right hand. Did the majority of the actual running of the company. He was accompanied by Boston police--”

“Why Boston?” Avery cut in.

“I was finishing up my PhD. From MIT. My second one, actually, for those of you who like to count things,” Tony answered. “We flew to New York—Obie and I, not the Boston PD—and met up with some of New York’s finest. Their police officers told me what they could but were soon shut out of the investigation.”

“What did they say?” Avery asked.

“Car crash was reported; parents were found dead at the scene. No other vehicles involved.”

“And did this sound suspicious to you?”

Tony shrugged. “Not initially. Dad didn’t do much driving, but he did plenty of drinking. The weather was pretty nasty that night. It didn’t seem too fishy at first.”

“When did you have some red flags rise in your mind?” Avery questioned.

“When I saw the windshield,” Tony answered. “There was a hole, probably around seven inches in diameter, on the driver's side of the glass. Which was weird because no one was ejected from the car, even though it rolled a number of times.”

“Could something else have been thrown from the car other than a passenger?” Avery asked.

“The steering wheel, probably. Best guess: someone reached into the car through the windshield and pulled the wheel from the steering column, then shot my parents. Or so I theorized from the autopsy reports I wasn’t supposed to see.”

“You mentioned someone taking over the investigation,” Avery said. “Who was that?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Tony responded. “Director Carter seemed keen on covering things up. Pretty sure she tried to talk to me about it a time or two, but I was busy spending most of the time after my parents’ deaths getting black-out drunk.”

Steve leaned back into Sam’s couch. “How well did Peggy know Tony?”

“She was his godson,” Natasha answered. “I’ve heard him refer to her as Aunt Peggy, and it was in a respectful manner.”

Steve hummed his intrigue at that. He and Peggy hadn’t been able to have too many fruitful conversations when he woke up from the ice. Alzheimer’s had already stolen most of her lucid moments, and death mercifully took her shortly after he woke up. They’d chatted a few times about the past, what her life had become. During their last conversation, he’d shyly shown her a sonogram picture of Nadia. Her wrinkled and age-gnarled fingers had traced the outline of his then not-quite daughter’s form. She’d smiled and congratulated him. Peggy had died three weeks after Nadia was born. He’d kept delaying meeting with Peggy and showing her baby pictures, and then it’d been too late. 

He sat on Sam’s couch wishing he could go and talk to her. Partly about what his life had become, and most certainly about all of this business.

* * *

Steve’s tie felt like a noose. He fought to keep his fingers from twitching or reaching up to loosen the knot Natasha had tied for him since his hands were shaking, which was quite a feat considering the serum.

He felt his pupils narrow as the horde of press took endless pictures of him in his seat after being sworn in. He swallowed, his throat dry and already wanting water, but he didn’t want to show his nerves for diving for the crystal glass and pitcher before the first question was even asked.

Thompson gaveled the session into order. “Questions for the first part of the day will come from Senator Byers,” he announced.

“Thank you,” a man replied. Michael Byers, the junior Senator for Delaware, was young compared to his peers. Late thirties, brown hair neatly styled. Steve wasn’t sure if he would’ve considered the man to look so much like Bucky if all this hadn’t been swirling around him. But now, it was all Steve could see. “Captain Rogers, I first want to thank you for your service, not only as a member of the Avengers but as a member of the Armed Forces.” Steve wasn’t sure what to say to that and didn’t trust his voice still, so he simply nodded. The senator graciously continued speaking. “Captain, when did you first meet James Barnes?”

“When we were kids—four or five, maybe,” Steve answered, grateful for the easy question. He heard the voice of Tony’s counsel in his mind and made sure not to give any more information than he needed to. Phil didn’t have too much information on Byers since the man seemed to have sky-rocketed into his position.

“I’m sure we’ve all been to the Smithsonian exhibit on your life. We’ve heard how the two of you were best friends, but—like all other public displays—I’m sure some rough spots have been smoothed down or glossed over. The exhibit and history books portray Sergeant Barnes as your right hand man, your support. Was that true in real life?”

“Somewhat,” Steve answered.

“Care to clarify?” Byers pushed.

Steve took a deep breath and wished he hadn’t convinced Natasha to stay at Sam’s. But Uncle Sam was already beat after one day of sightseeing with a four-year-old. Being a paratrooper and an Avenger was apparently nothing compared to watching over a tiny red-headed girl who could admittedly bend anyone to her will.

Another reason Steve had encouraged Natasha to stay at the house was because he hadn’t wanted her to be stressed out with the press and hearing his history with Bucky. Now, as his stomach twisted, he wished he’d told her to come.

“We were best friends. As soon as we met, we were inseparable,” Steve answered.

Byers nodded. “And later in life, was he truly your go-to guy?”

“Somewhat,” Steve said. “More like it was his job to keep me from getting too deep into trouble. I have a habit of running my mouth and picking fights. And back then, I was about the size of a twig. His job was to keep me from getting myself killed, and he helped me patch myself back up after fights. That was also his job during the war, but thankfully, I was able to heal faster during those battles.”

“Did Sergeant Barnes ever show anything that might have foreshadowed his future as a Soviet assassin?” Byers asked.

“No,” Steve answered firmly. “I know that in this day and age that patriotism is the personality trait of choice for all politicians to have, but back when the war was happening, we had true patriotism. We lived it and were truly the United States. You were either fighting in the war, or you were supporting it. Didn’t matter age, race, or how much money you had.” He paused to take a breath to keep himself in check. “Bucky enlisted before I could. Watching him walk away in that uniform was incredibly hard. I so badly wanted to be out there and fight.”

“With Bucky or for your country?” Byers questioned.

“Both,” Steve answered and elected to leave it at that.

The Senator shuffled his notes around in front of him. “The first time you saw Sergeant Barnes after your transformation with Project Rebirth, he was being held hostage by the Nazis. You disobeyed direct orders and went on a solo mission to rescue him.”

 

“That’s right.”

“What condition was he in when you found him?”

Steve swallowed. His perfect memory flashed the image of a pale, sweaty Bucky strapped to a table through his mind. “Not in good shape. Delirious. Kept repeating his name, rank, and serial number.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“Not immediately, but I looked a little different than the last time he saw me,” Steve replied.

Byers cracked a smile. “True. After you rescued him, did he talk about anything that happened while he was captured?”

“No, and I didn’t push him about it. I was just happy he was alive and that we were together again.”

“Did you nothing anything about his physiology or physicality that was different?” Byers questioned.

Steve shrugged. “We were going pretty non-stop after that. Didn’t have a lot of time to reflect on things like that. Too busy being shot at.”

“Captain Rogers, do you have any idea how Sergeant Barnes survived falling from that train in the Alps?” Byers asked.

Steve swallowed. Bucky’s yell as he slipped from Steve’s grasp would haunt him as long as he lived. “No,” he answered hoarsely. He worked his mouth to keep saying something, but nothing came out. He shook his head and stayed quiet.

Byers gave him a moment to collect himself. “Captain, how do you feel about all of this? What do you think happened to your best friend?”

Steve drew himself up to his full height in his chair, making sure everyone in the room—especially the committee members and press—were paying full attention to him. “I absolutely believe that Sergeant James Barnes holds the record for longest time spent as an American prisoner of war.”

* * *

Natasha smoothed the blouse over her stomach. “Was I this big this soon with her?” she whispered.

The her in question was snuggled up against Steve. Nadia had fallen back asleep after “helping” Natasha with her hair and makeup. “Probably my fault,” Steve whispered back.

Natasha caught his eye in the full-length mirror she was using. “Wasn’t meant to be an emo question.” She shifted to view the lines of her body in profile. “I don’t have another top to wear that’s appropriate and I don’t have time to go shopping. Not exactly how I planned we’d announce another one on the way.” She shook her head before muttering, “It didn’t look like this when I tried it on while packing.”

“In that case, we’ll blame Sam’s cooking,” Steve said.

That caused the corner of Natasha’s mouth to curl up into a small smile. “I’m scheduled at two,” she reminded him as if he could forget. “Counsel thinks it’ll either be short or painfully long.”

“Don’t kill any lawyers or politicians today.”

“I’m still allowed to imagine it though, right?” she asked with a wicked grin. She leaned over to place a barely-there kiss to Nadia’s curls before kissing Steve goodbye. “Don’t let her watch it, okay?”

“Promise,” Steve replied. He noticed the way her moth tightened into a line. “Hey, they can’t do anything to you.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” she replied before walking out of the bedroom and leaving Sam’s house.

She was right, Steve silently admitted. He’d tried to contain his foul mood after his interrogation by the committee but hadn’t succeeded. Not entirely, at least. Nadia, super sensitive to the moods of those around her, had picked up on Steve’s emotions. Dinner and bedtime after his hearing was not as easily handled as usual. Thankfully, she’d woken up the next morning in a good mood. Hopefully it would still be around when she woke up beside him again.

He knew he shouldn’t let her sleep for too long, but he was an absolute sucker for sweet and quiet moments like this. He let them lay there for another ten minutes before he gently nudged her awake. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s eat some breakfast.” Nadia grumbled and tried to worm her way closer to his chest, causing him to smile. “Nope. C’mon.” Steve scooped her up and carried her into the living room where Sam was messing on his phone with SportsCenter playing on the television. 

“Morning, sleepy heads,” he greeted.

“Can you say good morning?” Steve asked Nadia. She opted for a half-hearted wave instead. “You want cereal for breakfast?”

“I can make some pancakes,” Sam offered.

That perked Nadia up enough for her to pick her head up off Steve’s shoulder. “Uncle Clint makes pancakes with chocolate chips,” Nadia hinted.

“How about we use blueberries instead this morning?” Steve countered.

“Fine,” the girl sighed as she collapsed back against Steve’s shoulder. Sam smiled and poked her in the side as he passed them to get started in the kitchen. 

Steve sat down on the couch with Nadia. The newspaper a cushion over caught his attention. The front page showed a picture of him from yesterday’s hearing. The image easily conveyed the anger and hurt he’d felt while being questioned. He turned the paper over and pushed it further away so neither he nor Nadia would see any more of it.

“Where’d Mama go?” Nadia asked as she traced the Dodgers logo on his shirt with her index finger.

“She had to go talk with Zelda’s mom before answering some questions,” Steve answered.

His daughter sat up at the mention of her best friend’s name. “Is Zelda here?”

“No, I think she’s back in New York at preschool.”

The four-year-old’s bottom lip predictably stuck out in a pout. “I wish I was at preschool.”

“Hopefully Mama will be done answering questions today and we can go back home tomorrow.”

“Leaving me already?” Sam asked from the doorway of the kitchen.

“I miss Zelda,” Nadia answered.

Sam nodded. “I get that. Meanwhile, I need some help cooking. What do you think, Nadia?”

She looked expectantly up at Steve, and he gently nudged her off his lap. “Don’t make too big of a mess.”

By the time Natasha was about to walk into the committee chamber, Sam and Steve had managed to wear down Nadia with a trip to a park and several intense rounds of Go Fish. Steve had struck a deal with his daughter that she could watch whatever show or movie she wanted or play whatever game she pleased on her specially made StarkPad as long as she was on the guest bed Steve and Natasha were using.

“I can go keep her company, go for a run, or watch with you,” Sam offered. “Whatever you need, man.”

Steve waved him off. “Do whatever you want.”

“I’ll take that to mean you want me out of your hair. Tell you what, I’ll run to the store and get stuff for dinner. Make your own pizza night?”

“Sure,” Steve answered with a forced smile. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d have an appetite after watching his wife’s hearing, but they would all need food.

Unlike at the beginning of the week when Tony kicked things off, a number of channels were streaming the hearing live. Steve knew when Natasha walked into the chamber because the screen lit up with camera flashes. He had mistakenly turned on one of the twenty-four hour news channels to watch the proceedings. It was less than a minute before the crawling text at the bottom of the screen made legally safe assumptions at Natasha’s pregnancy. Steve grit his teeth and changed the channel to commentary-free CSPAN.

Liz Richter, junior Senator from Colorado, was supposed to handle the initial questions for Natasha, but she immediately yielded her time to Senator Avery—the obnoxious man who’d questioned Tony on Tuesday. Steve’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.

 **Phil** : _She needs a bill passed._

“Miss Romanoff, let’s talk about the personal relationship you had with this Winter Soldier,” Avery started.

Steve unlocked his phone to respond to the text. _Better be one hell of a bill_.

For the next hour, Steve watched Avery rake Natasha over the coals for as many indiscretions—both personal and criminal—as he could get his hands on. Steve spent the entire time with clenched jaws and fists. He soon began to pace back and forth in front of the television. The only good thing that happened during Natasha’s hearing was that Nadia stayed in the bedroom and didn’t see her parents go through this.

When Natasha walked into Sam’s house a couple of hours alter, she immediately bypassed everyone and headed straight for the shower. Steve kept one eye on Nadia organizing pizza ingredients and one on the closed door to the bathroom.

“Go,” Sam whispered while nudging Steve in the side. “We got this.”

“Not entirely sure she’s ready to be around people, including me,” Steve replied before gently grabbing Nadia’s hand as she tried to sneak another handful of shredded cheese into her mouth. “If you eat all of that now, there won’t be any left for anyone’s pizza.” Nadia gave him an obstinate look she clearly inherited from her mother, but listened. “Help Uncle Sam finish getting things ready for dinner. I’m going to go check on Mama.”

“Good luck,” Sam muttered.

“I’ll need it,” Steve relied. He moved to the bedroom and waited for Natasha to get out of the shower. When she walked in, Steve couldn’t help but think that no one would recognize her at the moment. She was wrapped in Steve’s bathrobe, which she’d commandeered in recent weeks, and her hair was twisted up in one of those towel turbans that Steve could never take seriously. But Steve’s attention was quickly drawn to how Natasha’s eyes were both wild and puffy. “What’s wrong?” Steve asked. “Other than the obvious?”

“He had information. Files he shouldn’t have access to,” Natasha answered.

“You’re sure?”

Natasha nodded. “He never came right out and announced it, but he alluded to it in his questions.”

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” he repeated.

“Hormones aren’t making me paranoid, Steve. Trust me.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “Where do you think he’s getting his information?”

Natasha paused in getting dressed, and Steve couldn’t help but pick up on the nervousness in her hesitation. Finally, she answered, “Peggy Carter.”

Steve tried to keep his face neutral. “Why her?”

“Best option,” Natasha answered. “I know what he was referencing because I lived it. He was saying things like he’d read them in a report, some of them redacted. But the phrasing… I think he’s getting his information from her, somehow.”

“So what do we do?” Steve asked.

“I’m going to call Sharon. See if she can find a S.H.I.E.L.D.-related excuse to get us to London so that we can rifle through her family’s estate.”

Steve rolled his lips. All of this was starting to make his head spin again. First Bucky, now Peggy. He wondered what other ghosts from his past were going to come back and haunt him. “If you think that’s best, then okay,” Steve said.

Natasha took his hand and pulled him up to standing. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

“None of this is your fault. Someone’s just using us as pawns.” 

“I’m just trying to end this,” Natasha replied.

“I know.”


	10. Chapter 10

Steve sat at the dining room table filling out the ubiquitous reports Coulson had shoved in his direction that morning. He fought off a sigh at the thought of having to hold another team meeting about the importance of completing your own post-op paperwork so he didn’t get stuck with it all. Because those meetings had been so effective over the last five years. 

It wasn’t until he was on the eighth page of filling in boxes and writing brief accounts of battles that happened weeks ago—yes, he could still remember them clearly, but that wasn’t the point—that he realized he hadn’t heard a peep from the other people in the apartment. Specifically the two four(-and-a-half) year old girls in the apartment.

He wasn’t one hundred percent sure about how things went with the guest in their home, but he knew what silence meant for his daughter. Like her mother, if Nadia went into silent mode, there was trouble; this theory had begun to form and hold water as soon as their daughter was mobile. 

“Girls?” he called out from the table. “You doin’ okay?” He waited a moment but was only answered by quiet. 

Dread began to coil in his stomach as he rose from the table, crossing the open living room toward Nadia’s bedroom. The door was open, but the room was empty. Messy with abandoned toys, but empty. “Girls?” he repeated, sternness slipping into his voice. 

Steve knew they were still in the apartment; he could see both the apartment entrance and the door to the deck from where he’d been sitting at the table. The bathroom across from Nadia’s room was dark and vacant. He quickly peeked his head into the former office-slash-weapons depot that was in the process of becoming a nursery , but that room was also empty. That just left his and Natasha’s bedroom. Or rather bathroom, as he discovered a moment later.

A bathroom that now had makeup smeared all over the counter, rug, toilet, and mirror. Oh, and the walls, too. And their clothes. And don’t get him started on the current state of their faces. Or hair. 

“Hi, Daddy,” Nadia greeted with a wide smile, red lipstick evident on her teeth. “Don’t we look pretty?” 

The words he wanted to say were not appropriate for young ears and were promptly caught in this throat as he looked back and forth between Nadia, sitting on the counter , and Zelda, standing on a stepstool one of them had brought in from Nadia’s bathroom.

Zelda, who’d instantly become Nadia’s best friend on her first day of preschool, was also the mutant adopted daughter of Hank and Kate McCoy. Mutant because orange scales covered her cheeks up to her temples and into her hairline before wrapping around her ears, leaving only a wide stripe of black hair running down the middle of her head. The scales continued down her neck and the tops of her arms and hands before stopping at her fingers; the tiny beauty looked three parts Asian girl and one part goldfish. And those pretty, delicate scales now sported blush, mascara (how it was all the way over on her cheek, Steve didn’t want to know), and foundation. 

Steve froze. He’d never learned much about fish biology, but weren’t scales needed to breathe? He knew gills were involved, but were the scales a part of that? He quickly dropped to one knee in front of his daughter’s classmate and lightly placed large hands on her thin arms. “Are you feeling okay?”

The girl gave a small shrug. “My tummy hurts a li—“

“JARVIS, get Bruce in here now. Tell him to bring his bag.”

“Of course, Captain,” the AI responded.

Steve quickly stood and grabbed a washrag. He sharply told Nadia to get off the counter while wetting the square cloth with warm water. “Tell me if this hurts,” he said gently as he knelt down in front of Zelda and as tenderly as possible tried to clean the makeup off of her iridescent scales. The more he rubbed at the makeup, the more he realized he was just spreading things around instead of getting it cleaned off her little face. 

Nadia made soft noises of worry behind him, and Steve could picture her literally wringing her tiny fingers—a habit she had when she thought she was going to get into big trouble . “Is she okay?”

Before he could answer, he heard Bruce shout for him in the living room. “Master bath,” he yelled back. Footfalls quickly approached the bathroom.

“Who’s hurt?” the doctor asked as soon as he hit the door, battered medical bag in hand.

Zelda’s almond-shaped eyes widened in fear. “Am I hurt?” she asked . The question caused Nadia’s worried whimpers to increase slightly in volume.

Steve’s mouth worked—not unlike a fish, his brain whispered to him —but no answer came out. At least not one he wanted to give. He turned to Bruce. “She got makeup on her scales. Is that going to…do something?”

Bruce gave a small shrug as he, too, knelt down in front of the young girl. “Scales,” his voice immediately reverting to his quiet, calm rumble for the sake of his patient, “are for extra protection.” He made sure to add a small smile in Zelda’s direction for some added reassurance.

“Yeah,” Steve continued, “but is there going to be some, I don’t know, chemical or allergic reaction?”

“Don’t get her worked up,” Bruce muttered to him before reaching out to gently brush blunt fingertips against the scales on Zelda’s face . “JARVIS? Doctor McCoy is supposed to be meeting me in a few minutes, would you direct him this way, please?”

“He has just entered the lobby. I will make sure he arrives here instead of your lab.”

Steve felt a tiny bit of relief at that bit of news. He did not want to have to call the large, blue-fur-covered man or his attorney wife and explain the situation. They were calm and easygoing people, but they cared deeply for their kids—foster or adopted—and Steve didn’t want to be the one to call and admit to letting their daughter get into harm’s way. Even if said harm was merely concealer. 

Heavy-duty concealer, in Steve’s defense. Because his wife required makeup that covered gashes and bruises while withstanding multiple clothing changes and hand-to-hand combat. “Natasha uses cold cream to get this stuff off. Should we try it?”

“Let’s wait on Hank,” Bruce answered.

They only had to wait a minute and a half before the geneticist arrived. Steve was calmed by the fact that the imposing figure had to literally bite down on a smile when he walked into the disaster zone that had become the master bathroom . McCoy crouched down in front of his daughter and tilted her face around gently with his oversized, claw-tipped fingers. “We’ll add this to the list of reasons why you’re not allowed to wear makeup until you’re sixteen,” he commented before finally letting a smile slip. Steve could see the immediate and relaxing effect it had on the little girl.

Hank turned to the other men. “This is nothing. You should’ve seen her a year and a half ago when she caught the chicken pox. Nearly scratched off half of her scales.”

“They itched,” Zelda argued.

“Of course they did, my dear,” Hank answered. 

“She was complaining of a stomach ache,” Steve informed him.

What could possibly be interpreted as a stern look crossed the scientist’s feline features. “Zelda, did you drink milk at school again?”

Her small shoulders drooped in shame. “Yes,” she answered meekly.

“What have your mother and I told you about that?”

“That my d-and-a doesn’t like milk and I can’t drink it.”

“That’s right.”

“But Daddy, then I have to drink juice, and that makes me the only one who drinks that while everyone else gets milk. And chocolate milk tastes so good, Daddy. Can’t I please just have it at school?”

“Dear heart,” Hank told her quietly while leaning his large frame closer to her, “there is nothing wrong with being different. Now let’s get you cleaned up. Your mother’s making lasagna .” He turned to Bruce. “Would you mind terribly if we rescheduled our discussion?”

“Not at all. Tony’s dragging me to some conference at the end of next week, but other than that, my schedule’s wide open.”

“Wonderful, and thank you for being willing to look at her.”

“Anytime,” he answered as he rose. “Well, if there are no actual medical emergencies, I’ll be on my way.” He paused to look around the bathroom. “Natasha’s getting back tonight from London, right?”

Steve sighed. “Don’t remind me.” 

He could ask his young daughter to help him clean, but at her age, that was more a punishment for the parent and not the child. He had four hours before Natasha got back from her trip to the British S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, which was a cover for Natasha and Sharon Carter to go through Sharon’s great-aunt’s files in London. 

Bruce left, and the fathers spent the next ten minutes wiping makeup as best as they could from their daughters’ faces. “Sorry,” Steve apologized for a third time . “If her clothes are ruined, I’d be happy to pay for replacements.”

“It’s not a problem. It just means Zelda has another set of clothes to fingerpaint in.”

Steve and Nadia walked Hank and Zelda to the door, the girls pausing to give each other a quick hug before goodbye waves were exchanged between the four of them . When he turned to look back down at his daughter, she had her pathetic expression on her face. “Did I hurt my friend?” 

“No, honey,” he sighed as he reached down and picked her up, holding her against his left hip.

“But you called Uncle Bruce.”

“I was scared. Zelda is going to be fine, but you are not allowed to use Mama’s makeup without permission or supervision, am I understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Good. Now quick dinner, and then you’re getting a bath.”

His daughter’s pouty bottom lip made an immediate reappearance. “I took a bath this morning.”

“Mama will be here when you wake up, and I’m not going to let you have cold cream and makeup caked in your hair when she gets home. Bath.” 

“Okay,” she sighed.

A few hours later, once Nadia was fed, clean, and tucked into bed sporting her favorite pair of cotton shirt-and-shorts pajamas—the ones covered in leaping frogs—Steve sat down beside her bed. “Why did you get in to your mama’s makeup today?”

“Because I wanted to look pretty.”

“Bug, you don’t need makeup to look pretty.”

“But when Mama wears her makeup, you say she looks beautiful,” she challenged, stretching every syllable out of that final word.

He leaned in conspiratorially. “You want to know when I think Mama is the prettiest?”

“When she gets to wear her fancy dresses?”

“Nope. It’s when she’s not wearing any makeup at all.”

Nadia’s face scrunched up in disappointment at his answer. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t let very many people see her without any makeup. But you and me? We’re special enough for that.” 

She was still unconvinced of his answer, but he kissed her goodnight, told her he loved her, and left her to sleep anyway. He then set to work on cleaning up the disaster zone of his and Natasha’s bathroom. He was halfway finished when he heard soft footsteps sneak up behind him.

“What happened in here?” Natasha asked as she reached down to where Steve was scrubbing mascara off the tile floor and ran nails against his scalp.

His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, and he let loose a sigh. Turning to face her, he placed a kiss against her burgeoning bump before standing and capturing her lips with his. “Hi,” he breathed once they broke apart.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Your daughter—“ 

“Our daughter—“

“—and her friend got into your makeup. And apparently tried to give everything in here a makeover.”

Natasha’s nimble fingers snagged the collar of his shirt. “I’m hoping that’s why there’s lipstick here. Otherwise, I was going to have to eviscerate someone.” An eyebrow quirked upwards. “Once I’m finished with you, that is.” 

“No need to worry about that,” he promised as he leaned in for another kiss. “You check in on Nadia?” She nodded before leaning forward and letting her forehead rest on his broad chest. 

“I hate how pregnancy takes away my usual immunity to jetlag .”

He smiled as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. “Feeling okay otherwise?”

She nodded against him. “Just exhausted.”

“Find the mole in the London office?”

“Helen Keller could’ve found her.” 

“At least it gave you an excuse to travel over there on official business. Anyone suspect you and Sharon were in London for anything else?” Natasha gave him an unimpressed look. “Of course not. Are we going over the files tonight?”

She shook her head before pulling away. “Shower, then I’m sleeping for fourteen hours.”

“Want me to join you?”

“I’d rather have a clean bathroom,” she smirked up at him. Natasha then turned to take in the half-cleaned up mess before her. “Did she ruin all of my makeup?”

“And McCoy and I had to use all your cold cream to clean the girls up.”

Natasha sighed. “I’ll add shopping to my schedule for tomorrow.”

* * *

Steve settled in at the kitchen table with a notepad and the stacks of files Natasha had brought back from London. Sure, he’d promised his wife that they’d look through things in the morning, but there were two possibilities. One: Natasha knew Steve’s curiosity would get the better of him and would be fine giving him some time on his own to look through the records. Two: Natasha had already given things a onceover during her flight back from London. Steve didn’t think that second one was likely; Natasha seemed pretty keen on giving Steve as much space as possible when it came to discovering things about Bucky. Whether that was a good or bad tactic, Steve was still unsure. 

As soon as he pulled the first file folder out of the nearest box, his throat tightened. He could recognize Peggy’s handwriting from a mile away. No matter how quickly her hand moved, the letters were always crisp and precise; she’d always said it was one of the few traits that was valuable to learn while training to be a secretary. 

The smell of old paper and ink overwhelmed his senses for a moment. He was almost sure he could detect a whiff of Peggy’s perfume in the mix, but that might’ve just been his imagination. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and to come up with a tactical plan on how best to assimilate the information. A great option would be to scan in all the files and have JARVIS spit out an analysis, but everyone was still a little leery of going paperless after the Avengers server was hacked a few months ago. Hence Steve using his notebook and pen.

The next six hours were consumed with organizing the files chronologically so that he could follow the path of information as Peggy herself had learned it. It seemed Bucky’s first appearance came in the late forties, four years after his supposed death, and even then, the records didn’t seem sure that Bucky was the assassin. The target was a leader of a small third-world country in Eastern Europe, and according to Peggy’s notes, with him out of the way the KGB was able to put someone in place who would be better suited at giving the country’s metal resources to the Soviet Union. There weren’t too many forensic details about the case, and honestly, all the records were basically hearsay. But one person had said they thought they saw a glint off a man’s hand like it was made of metal, and that was all that could possibly be tied to Bucky.

From there, the records were sporadic but grew in detail, thanks mostly to an increase in things like forensics, recording devices to monitor security, and other technological developments. Rarely was there a good image of Bucky; he excelled at avoiding detection. Something he’d done since he was a kid, much to his mother’s chagrin . But eventually, a dossier was pieced together on the unknown assailant who was dubbed The Winter Soldier sometime in the last fifties. There wasn’t any record in Peggy’s files as to how he earned the nickname, something that Steve was still curious about.

Steve hadn’t noticed natural light filtering into the room , and he didn’t even hear Natasha pad up behind him. But to his credit, he didn’t startle when her fingernails began to gently scratch the back of his neck. “Did you even pretend like you were going to sleep last night?” she asked.

“We both know doing that would’ve been a waste of time,” he answered. “You look through this?”

Natasha shook her head. “Figured you could go through it first, brief me, and then I could help fill in some missing holes with what KGB files I haven’t matched up with anything else yet. Find anything good?”

“Feels like more question marks than answers,” he admitted while running a hand over his face.

“These things always feel like that. Trick is to find a good starting point and go from there.”

He sighed and nodded. “Should the starting point be one that has a lot of solid information or one with barely any at all?”

“How much do you want to pull your hair out?” Natasha questioned. 

Steve groaned as he stood. “I need food. He craving anything in particular this morning?”

Natasha placed her hand on her stomach, still mostly hidden at this point when she slept in Steve’s large undershirts. “Omelet?”

“Sure, and I’ll get cereal set out for Nadia,” Steve said. “Did you hate eggs as a child or is that something where she’s not acting exactly like you?”

“If I answer that question truthfully, you’re going to feel guilty and upset about asking it,” Natasha warned.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered.

“You were probably in the same situation as a kid. No need to apologize.” 

They remained silent for a bit while Steve diced vegetables and heated the frying pan, and at the table, Natasha carefully poked at the piles Steve had organized during the night. They both turned at the same time when they heard Nadia shuffle into the room. “Is it time to eat?” she asked. “My stomach is growly.”

“Would you like cereal or oatmeal?” Steve offered.

“What are you making?” she asked while standing on her tiptoes as close to the stove as she was allowed.

“Mama and I are going to have eggs.”

Nadia turned her nose up at that. “I’ll just have cereal.” 

After that, the day seemed mostly like normal. They made space at the dining room table for the three of them to eat together. Nadia prattled on about her dreams—the night before involved Uncle Bruce taking her on a plane ride—and what she thought she’d learn that day in preschool. There was the usual debate on the definition of “matching clothes” before Natasha volunteered to walk her over to her preschool classroom.

Twenty minutes after they left, the doorbell chimed. “Come in,” Steve replied. Sharon Carter entered room, and Steve wanted to swear . He was expecting another member of the team, and they didn’t have any problems with seeing him dressed in an undershirt and a pair of boxer-briefs . “Sorry,” he muttered as he dashed to the bedroom. He hastily threw on a pair of sweatpants, figuring an undershirt wasn’t that big of a deal. “What can I do for you?” Steve asked when he came back out to the living room.

“Actually, I was going to ask the same thing,” Sharon said. “Mind if I help you out?” she asked while gesturing towards the files she’d helped to bring back from London.

“Umm, sure. That’s fine. You want coffee or anything? We only have decaf at the moment.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” she replied with a smile. 

Sharon sat down at the table and began to rifle through the files. Steve couldn’t help but stare at her for a moment. He tried to look for similarities to Peggy, but other than the brown eyes, he couldn’t find much. Not physically, at least. Steve knew Peggy would be immensely proud of how far Sharon had advanced in S.H.I.E.L.D. She was one of twenty elite agents whose only designation was a number. Clint always joked it was Fury’s attempt at having James Bond references in the spy organization. 

“Any luck?” she asked.

“Some,” Steve answered. “One page will clear up something, and the next will spring a dozen new questions.”

“I know that feeling,” Sharon commiserated.

They quietly worked through pages of reports, taking notes on things of relevance. When Natasha returned from dropping Nadia off at preschool, she joined in on trudging through the files. By the time lunch rolled around, Steve felt like he was on to something. 

“What about this?” he asked. He spun a packet of papers and pictures around for Natasha and Sharon to inspect it. On top was a satellite picture of a warehouse of some sort. Coordinates in the corner of the image placed the location somewhere in central Russia.

“I’ve never been there before,” Natasha said after looking at the image and starting to flip through the pages. “Looks like another KGB hole where they did who-knows-what.”

“Aunt Peggy hated those places,” Sharon said. “We can go check it out.” 

“When do you want to leave?” Steve asked.

Sharon’s eyes flashed for a half-second to Natasha’s stomach. “Um, let’s talk about who the ‘we’ is in this.” 

“Just because Natasha is on medical leave doesn’t mean I can’t go on a mission.”

Natasha sighed and stared Sharon down. “Out with it.”

“Fury wants other people to follow through on whatever the next step is. Said you two were too close to this.”

“You’re reporting back to Fury?” Steve asked, unable to keep a hint of anger out of his voice.

“Yes,” Sharon answered honestly. “Because believe it or not, he wants answers too. And it’s better to go through him than around him on this one.” 

“Who did he suggest go on the next mission?” Natasha asked.

“Coulson will run point. Barton and I will be on the ground,” Sharon replied.

Natasha arched an eyebrow at Steve, and he nodded reluctantly. “Good hunting,” he said.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve stood in a command room in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. This particular floor of the building was made up of a series of rooms that handlers used to oversee missions for their agents. The walls were covered with screens pulling images from local traffic cameras and satellite feeds, as well as any visuals the agents themselves could provide. There were readouts for each mission member’s vitals, weather conditions for where they were, and a list of the twenty most recent intelligence reports for that location. 

Technically, Steve wasn’t overseeing this mission, Phil was. But Phil was also on the ground with Sharon and Clint, just trailing them by a few blocks. The streets of Ust-Ilimsk appeared dark yet calm, despite the frigid February temperatures, on the video feed. Sharon had a contact in the area who was willing to meet Clint and her in the central part of the town. The place itself used to be a hub for timber, and the base the team was interested was located a dozen kilometers to the north in the woods on a miniature island within the Angara River. 

The team kept their mics muted while on the ground, meeting with Sharon’s contact. Steve shifted his gaze between the screens. A few minutes after walking into a small bar filled with people coming off of their shift at wherever they worked, a man Steve didn’t recognize sat down at Clint and Sharon’s table in the back corner of the establishment. Phil sat at the bar, pretending to watch television while really putting every bit of focus he conspicuously could on keeping an eye on his agents. Steve didn’t have a good look at who Sharon’s contact was, but she’d sworn up and down that he was trustworthy. He knew that he was older, Russian, and knew the location of the base the team was trying to access. A very small part of Steve’s mind that wasn’t focused on the screens surrounding him wondered if the contact was somehow connected to Peggy and she’d passed down the information source to her great-niece. 

The door to the command room opened, and Natasha slipped in. “Nadia had to practice her show-and-tell speech five times before we could even leave our apartment, and then three times more on the two-minute walk to her preschool class.”

Steve smiled. “What did she decide to bring today? She couldn’t make up her mind when I tucked her in last night.”

“She settled on her goggles and lab coat to talk about experiments with Bruce.”

“She knows she’s not allowed to conduct any experiments in class, right?” Steve asked.

“I’ll admit I’m not always the best parent in the world, but I’m a decent enough mother to repeat that to her until she stomped her foot at me,” Natasha said.

Steve’s eyebrows rose. “Rough morning with her?”

Natasha shrugged. “She kept eyeing my stomach and saying that she’s going to be a big sister and didn’t need me to boss her around.” 

“We’ll have to ask Kate McCoy how successful four-year-olds are at going before judges to win their independence from their horrible, bossy parents,” Steve said.

“You joke, but I wouldn’t put it past her,” Natasha warned. 

“They’re on the move,” Steve noted, even though he was certain Natasha couldn’t miss the movement on the screens around them. Silently, they watched as Sharon and Clint left with their contact, with Phil leaving two minutes later. Steve and Natasha’s attention shifted to satellite feeds that could read their heat signatures in the dark. Three dots walked two blocks ahead of the fourth. Granted, there were other heat signatures moving all around them, but Steve knew who to watch. The quartet walked further northwest, away from the center of town and toward a dock on the river; there, they would board a boat the contact owned and travel upriver to the installation.

But then, things went sideways.

The four dots—Phil’s moving closer to the group as they left the more populous part of town—were engulfed within a larger circle of light. Natasha beat Steve to the comms and immediately began to try and raise anyone on the team to no avail. As she continued trying, Steve called Sitwell and told him what he’d saw.

“We’ll dispatch a unit ASAP,” Sitwell reassured.

“How far out?” Steve asked.

“Five minutes,” Sitwell answered.

“Did we have any intel on someone knowing the team was coming? Did the contact turn on us?”

“Too soon to tell,” Sitwell replied. “As soon as I have something, I’ll call. Let me handle this.”

Steve ground his jaw as the line disconnected. Behind him, Natasha was still trying to make contact with anyone on the team, but the comms were quiet. Steve tried to reason that whatever the ball of light was—he knew it was an explosion but preferred denial at the moment —maybe it had knocked out communications, nothing more. But looking back at the satellite feeds, Steve didn’t see the dots representing his friends moving anymore. While the larger circle had dissipated in size and brightness, it still existed. Probably a fire.

Natasha spat a vile curse in her native tongue, and the two of them locked eyes. They didn’t need to speak to know what was on each other’s minds. “They went so you this wouldn’t happen to you,” Natasha pointed out. “If you go over there—”

“I’ll take the risk of them being pissed at me. And you’d already be on the Quinjet, if not there on the ground, if you weren’t pregnant,” Steve replied. “I’m going.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m just jealous I can’t go with you.”

“I know,” he echoed. “Call the team. We’ll head out as soon as everyone is gathered. Don’t tell Sitwell we’re taking over until we’re off the ground. Call Maria and see if she’ll step in to take over handler duties for Phil.”

Natasha rose up on her toes and kissed him soundly. “Bring them back and come home,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am . I’ll call when we leave and land,” he called out as he ran out the door.

They were in the air in ten minutes, the Quinjet brimming with silent worry. Tony took over piloting duties since they were without Clint and Natasha. In the back, Thor, Bruce, and Steve silently plotted or brooded or something in between. Thor paced the small space of the cabin, Bruce wore his noise-cancelling headphones to try and help center himself, and Steve sat with a tablet in his lap trying to go over what little information they had on what happened. 

Thor had arrived back to Earth that morning. Steve wasn’t entirely sure who’d caught the Asgardian up on the details of what had happened over the last few months, but someone clearly had. Although he hadn’t said anything yet, he kept looking between Steve and Tony but sighed instead of speaking. Steve understood how he felt. 

The initial rescue team from the scene in Russia had reported five minutes ago that there was a car explosion. The car in question was parked along the curb, and the explosion was set off as the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and Sharon’s contact walked past it. Forensics teams were on the ground collecting evidence to identify the components of the bomb and trace it back to a possible culprit, but Steve knew that would take time.

As for his friends, the news got worse. Sharon’s contact had been killed instantly. The three agents were in critical condition, suffering from burns, lacerations, broken bones, and more than likely concussions. All three were still unconscious, and Steve didn’t have specific details on what injuries belonged to whom.

Steve had to wait. And he hated waiting. 

He tried to occupy his time with reading intelligence reports and waiting for emails and notifications to come in from the team on the ground, but the communications were slow and his mind was quick to wander . He considered following Thor’s lead and pacing the floor, but he knew that wouldn’t help Bruce keep his calm. He could go up to the co-pilot’s seat and talk to Tony, but things were still tense after everything with Bucky came to light. 

Congress had continued its hearings but hadn’t come to any conclusions, just tabeled things for the moment. Steve felt like it was a metaphor for his life. A burst of emotionally draining chaos, and then nothing. No conclusion, just being held in a never-ending loop waiting for another explosion of hurt and confusion. It was vicious and sickening cycle, and he was ready to get off of the ride. 

He leaned his head back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. He knew sleeping would be impossible, but he could at least try and, who knows, meditate or whatever Bruce did in times like this to keep his temper at bay. Steve was secretly glad the Hulk was inside of Bruce and not himself. Steve was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to control his identities as well as Bruce could. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket. The message contained a new set of coordinates. The communication from Jasper meant that the agents had been air-lifted out of Ust-Ilimsk and sent west to the nearest decently sized S.H.I.E.L.D. base with a good medward. Steve ran the coordinates through his map app on his phone and moved up to the co-pilot’s seat. “We’re being redirected to Krasnoyarsk,” he informed Tony.

“Is that where Barton and the gang are going, or the evidence?” Tony asked.

“Sitwell didn’t specify.”

“Which would you rather us do? Go after the guys who did this or sit at medward bedsides?”

“I can tell where your vote lies,” Steve replied.

“I think we all know I’m shit at sitting in a chair and watching someone sleep off pain killers. Rather keep my brain and hands occupied, you know?” 

Steve did know. All too well, in fact. He sent a text to Sitwell asking for clarification on the message. _Lifting the scene and taking it there_ , Sitwell texted back. _Stark can do his holographic CSI shit there._ Steve showed his phone at Tony, who snorted when he read the message. He punched in the new coordinates into the Quinjet’s navigational computer terminal. Steve saw the estimated time of arrival increase by fifteen minutes. He was stuck on whether or not he should move back to the cabin portion of the plane or stay in the cockpit with Tony.

“Sitwell say anything about how everyone’s doing?” Tony asked.

“No,” Steve answered. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Probably doesn’t know for sure or he’s too busy handling things to go into full detail,” Tony said. Steve noted his tone and wondered if Tony made the statement as much for his own benefit as he had for Steve’s.

“You heard any leads?” Steve asked.

Tony shook his head. “Guessing more of this USSR mystery man who seems hell bent on ruining all our lives.” He paused and rolled his lips. “Listen, there isn’t any chance your friend is still alive, is there? This isn’t him running some revenge plot? Programmed into him or not?” 

“I really don’t think so,” Steve said. “Natasha said he died thirty years ago. We have a few files corroborating that.”

“No offense to your wife, but you and I both know they can screw with your head and memories. Files can be faked.” 

Steve paused to consider the theory. “I don’t think it’s him. Programming or not, I don’t think he’d try to hurt me or Natasha like this.”

Tony remained silent, but Steve could feel doubt coming off of him in waves.

* * *

Sharon’s contact was dead. Sharon and Clint were both in surgery, and Phil was knocked out due to pain killers. The handler had only received lacerations that needed stitches. He’d been slammed into a cement wall, which had caused some hairline fractures in his back and bruised ribs, not to mention a hell of a concussion. Sharon and Clint both had to have debris from the exploded car pulled out of their bodies. Sharon had lucked out with pieces of metal only embedding into muscle of her arms and legs. Clint had managed to have pieces lodge in his liver and between his ribs. They hadn’t gone deep enough to kill him, and everyone knew Clint was used to getting beat up, but it was still bad enough to scare the team. Tony suggested drawing straws as to who would have to tell Phil what happened when he woke up, since no one wanted that responsibility. Sitwell suggested making a rookie agent do it, but everyone knew that Phil deserved better than that. 

Tony quickly set to work on analyzing the evidence from the crime scene, Bruce at his side. “What shall we do?” Thor asked Steve.

He shrugged. “Wait.”

The Asgardian pursed his lips. “I prefer action.”

“You and me both,” Steve sighed.

He called Natasha and gave her an update on what had happened. She offered to fly out to be with them all since the base where the injured agents had been moved to didn’t seem to be in danger , but Steve told her no. “Help make things welcoming for when they get back. Clint’s going to need some recovery time.”

“I’ll go stock their freezer with Ben and Jerry’s,” Natasha said.

Steve neglected to bring up Tony’s theory of Bucky being behind all of this mess. Depending on the time of day, Steve’s sensitivity on the matter ranged from being able to handle things to being as soft-bellied and vulnerable as a new puppy. Probably would be for a long while. But he believed Natasha when she said Buck was long gone, and she didn’t need something else hanging over her head. Steve knew she was worried enough as it was with Clint and Phil badly hurt and on the other side of the world. He checked in with Nadia and then went back to pacing the waiting room’s floor with Thor. 

They spent three days in Russia before flying back. Phil, Clint, and Sharon ride back on a large cargo plane due to medical restrictions. Sharon was still in a medically induced coma to deal with some of her injuries. Clint and Phil were both beat to hell. Tony stayed behind to help the forensics team study the explosion. So far, they didn't have any solid leads. Whoever had done this made sure to keep the weapon’s ingredients as generic as possible using superfluous components to make identification all but impossible. No one was taking credit for the explosion, and no one's intelligence reports had any solid leads to pass on to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. It was one of the most frustrating times Steve could remember in his life. 

Two days later, there was a knock on Steve and Natasha's apartment door. Steve opened it to find Clint, still sporting bruises and cuts, wearing a suit. “You guys busy?” He asked.

It was Sunday. Normally Steve would be heading to mass, Nadia in tow, but after the last week and being gone, he'd voted for everyone to stay in for a leisurely morning. “Not really,” Steve answered. “What's up?”

“We need witnesses,” Clint said. 

Steve's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. Yes, as Natasha would no doubt point out at least three times before the day was over, he was a complete sucker for romance . But they all needed something good to happen in their lives. “Any reason why today?”

Clint shrugged, then winced. “Almost dying changes things.”

Steve nodded. “We'll be ready in thirty minutes.”

“Good,” he said, handing Steve a velvet satchel. “You're ring bearer. Tell the kid she can be flower girl, but we don't have any petals or anything.” 

“She won't know the difference,” Steve reassured him. “We'll see you in a bit.”

“Keep it quiet, will ya?” Clint asked. “I don't need a Thor guilt trip on my wedding day. But I also don't need a feast and three-day party.”

Steve smiled. “You know he'll at least demand to make up for it on your first anniversary.”

“Problem for future me.” 

With that, Steve went back to Nadia's room where she and Natasha were coloring. “Who was that?” Natasha asked.

“Clint. We need to get ready for a wedding,” Steve announced.

A rare look of surprise crossed Natasha's face, and she swore under her breath in Russian. Nadia looked at her in confusion. “I don't know those words, Mama. What do they mean?”

“They're big people words,” Steve said. “You don't get to say them yet.” When Nadia pouted her bottom lip at that, Steve gently tapped on her mouth. “Put that frown away. You can't be making that face if you're going to be the flower girl.”

The four-year-old gasped in excitement. “Sophie at school got to be a flower girl. And I get to be one, too? What do I do?”

“Be the prettiest girl there,” Steve answered.

“But what about flowers?” Nadia questioned.

“We'll find some to put in your hair,” Natasha said, her fingertips trailing through the girl's curls as she clearly planned out a style in her mind.

“Sophie said there was a ring bear. Who's that going to be?” Nadia asked.

“Bearer,” Steve gently corrected. “And that would be me.” His curiosity overcame him, and he loosened the velvet bag to let the rings fall into the palm of his hand. They were made of some kind of brushed silvery metal. They had a little more height than Steve's own wedding band, but were otherwise pretty non-descript. Steve caught etching on the inside of the bands and quickly placed them back in the bag, not wanting to totally invade Clint and Phil's privacy. 

“Those don't look spur of the moment,” Natasha commented.

Steve shook his head. “I'm not going to ask how long they've been sitting on this . I'll leave that to you. But I did promise we'd be ready pretty quickly. How do you want to do this?”

“You go swipe some flowers from the penthouse,” Natasha ordered. “Pepper always has fresh arrangements, even when she's not there. Bruce is the only one around, and he probably won't even notice a vase is missing. I'll take care of getting the two of us ready,” Natasha said, referring to Nadia and herself.

Steve nodded, appreciating the orders. He slipped up to the penthouse apartment still dressed in his undershirt and pajama pants. He called out for Bruce as he stepped off the elevator, but the only response he heard was JARVIS informing him that Bruce was down in the lab. “You think Pepper will mind if I steal some flowers?” Steve asked.

“For this occasion? Certainly not,” JARVIS replied.

“You're not going to rat them out, are you?”

“Agents Coulson and Barton may consider it my wedding gift to keep the news from Master Stark for as long as I can,” JARVIS said. 

Steve grabbed one of the smaller arrangements composed of white carnations, daisies, and baby's breath, as well as picking up a vase containing white Calla lilies. He figured white would be a safe color. He also knew if it wasn't that Natasha would send him up here again . When he went back downstairs, Natasha had her hair wrapped around large rollers, was wearing Steve's bathrobe, and was trying to convince Nadia to keep still—a constant battle in their home. Nadia was wearing her black dress she'd worn for Christmas mass, sans the sweater, and black patent leather shoes. Steve set the flowers on the counter of the sink in Nadia's bathroom, and Natasha nodded her approval. He then quickly ran through the shower, toweled his hair dry and made sure it wasn't sticking up at all angles before heading for the closet and grabbing his best suit, which happened to be the one he wore at his wedding. He considered grabbing the light blue tie he'd worn with it, but smiled and instead grabbed the purple silk one hiding in the back of the closet. It was from a Halloween costume challenge where their circle of friends made the contest of who could summarize a couple living in the tower best using only a single costume. Steve had opened for a black suit with a purple tie and tinted sunglasses. He hadn't won, but the accessory now came in handy. 

“Daddy!” Nadia yelled from what sounded like the living room. “We're waiting on you. Mama says to stop being a diva and hurry up.” 

Steve shouldn't have been surprised that Natasha had gone from bathrobe and rollers to fully put together in the time it took for him to take a quick shower, but he was a little. And he certainly wasn't excited about Nadia learning a new nickname for him. When he walked out into the living room, his breath caught. He wasn't the only wearing clothes from the wedding. Natasha stood there in her navy cocktail dress with lace overlay. Steve felt his throat tighten for a second as he reached out to graze her stomach with his fingers. “Beautiful,” he said.

Natasha's eyes softened slightly before she looked down at herself. “I'm scared it fits as well as it does. I wasn't this far along when we got married.”

“Nadia was little and early,” Steve reminded her.

“And if this one is fat and late, you're not going to get to touch me for a little while,” she warned. 

“What do you think, Daddy?” Nadia asked as she twirled for him. 

Natasha had pulled the front part of Nadia's hair back and secured a daisy where the two pieces met behind her head. She'd also forged a small bouquet of daisies and carnations for Nadia to carry, and Natasha had even worked a sprig of baby's breath into her own hair behind her right ear. “I think my girls couldn't look more beautiful if they tried.”

Right on cue, the door chime sounded, and Nadia shouted for whoever it was to come in. Clint and Phil, both dressed in their own best suits, walked in. Steve could feel the energy coming off of them in waves. Their smiles were nervous and giddy and reminded him of young boys disembarking on a deployment—naïve, proud, fervently hiding their fears, and absolutely on top of the world . Steve was pretty sure that their marriage wouldn’t be a bloody battlefield, but the comparison still rung true in his mind.

“Takes you guys getting blown up to finally make right by each other?” Natasha asked.

Clint smiled back. “Please. Like if it wasn't for short stuff, the two of you wouldn't still be living in sin.” 

Steve was pretty sure that if it wasn't for Nadia, he and Natasha wouldn't be together at all. But now was neither the time nor the place to make that argument. 

The five of them crammed themselves into a cab, which was comical considering their group contained two people who had just (barely) been released from doctor’s care, a woman who was twenty-six weeks pregnant, a super soldier, and a four-year-old. Thankfully, the trip to the courthouse was mercifully short. 

On the way to the courthouse, Phil explained that he'd pulled some strings and persuaded a judge to meet them there for a bare bones wedding on his day off. Natasha joked that they could've had Fury perform the ceremony on the Helicarrier; both Clint and Phil glared at her for that.

Together, they slipped through a side door and moved up to the third floor to an empty court room. Phil and Clint led the way and walked relatively quietly even though Steve could make out hitches in both their gaits due to injuries. The main sound was the clicking of Natasha’s kitten heels on the marble floor. Steve carried Nadia as they walked, the small girl too busy taking in her surroundings to probably walk in a straight, efficient path. 

The ceremony was the bare basics—traditional vows, no tomfoolery on pretending to lose rings, simple and straightforward. Much like the grooms themselves . Steve pretended to not notice how he and Nadia were the only ones who didn’t tear up during the ceremony. Once the union was sealed with a kiss, they took turns signing the wedding certificate, and that was that.

Maybe it was the warm sunshine or maybe they just didn’t want to be crammed into another cab, but together, they decided to walk back to the Tower. Natasha offered a celebration dinner somewhere or at least the chance to hit up a bakery on the way, but Steve heard Clint say something about a rain check and honeymoon hand jobs waiting for him and Phil. 

“Maybe not in front of the four-year-old,” Phil half-heartedly chided.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Neither of us are medically cleared to do anything that will ruin her precious little ears.”

It was true. The newlyweds walked ahead of Steve and his family. The two men leaned into each other and held each other upright. Not only out of love, but because they should both probably be horizontal in a recovery ward. But this was their life. You embraced what few moments of peace and happiness you could grab in their lives because disaster was going to explode in your face at any second. He tilted his head back and took in the late-March sunshine, forcing himself to clear his mind of all the shit of the last six months and focus only on those around him and his love for them. 

The happiness lasted twenty hours. Just shy of six in the morning the following day, Steve’s phone buzzed with a text message from Sitwell. _Carter’s awake. Wants to talk to you and Romanoff._

Steve rubbed a hand over his face before texting back _Be there in 10_. He rolled over and wrapped his body around Natasha’s as best he could since she spent most nights in a pillow cocoon to feel comfortable. “Hey,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her cheek. “Sitwell wants us.”

Natasha groaned but began to stir and rose from the bed to make her way to the bathroom. Steve got out of bed and began to throw on clothes, texting Bruce along the way to come watch over sleeping Nadia since it was never a good idea to wake up the child this early in the morning.

 _I’ll watch her if I can crash on the couch_ , Bruce texted back.

_Deal_

Once Bruce arrived, clearly half-asleep from pulling another all-nighter in the lab while Tony and Pepper were gone , Steve and Natasha made their way over to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. “He say why she asked for us?” Natasha questioned, her voice still thick with sleep. Normally she’d be sharp and fully awake by now, but Steve had felt her toss and turn overnight and silently wondered what had caused the poor night’s sleep. 

“No, just that she wanted to talk to us,” Steve said.

“Glad she finally woke up,” Natasha commented.

Sharon looked small in the hospital bed. She tried to sit up when they walked in the room, but grimaced and stayed still. “How ya feeling?” Steve asked, his hands itching at his side to help her get into a more comfortable position, but he knew better than to reach out and touch Sharon without her permission.

“Like I was blown up,” Sharon grumbled. She looked over at Natasha. “Need to talk to you before I fall back asleep or forget. My contact—”

“Dead,” Natasha bluntly told her.

Sharon nodded. “Sitwell told me. But he said we could try and break into the place, but the key to getting in was to tell you about a dozen yellow roses.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed. “You sure that’s what he said? That doesn’t sound familiar to me. Was it code?”

“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. That’s what ‘Дюжина жёлтых роз’ means, right?” Sharon asked. 

Immediately, he could almost watch something wash over Natasha. She grew pale, and her breath quickened. Steve quickly stepped to her side and helped to ease her down into a chair. “Tasha?” he whispered. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t answer, but her breathing grew more rapid. 

“I’ll call the nurse,” Sharon said, and Steve heard the click of the call button on her remote.

“Tasha,” he repeated. “Talk to me.” She whispered something, and despite his enhanced hearing, he couldn’t quite make it out. “I didn’t—”

“I killed him,” she said, her voice cracking. “I killed James.”

Steve shook his head. “I know they beat into you that you didn’t follow orders and that led to him—”

“No, Steve,” she said, her face showing how broken her heart felt. “I killed him. In a forest. With a knife. It was me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all my Russian-speaking tumblr friends for the help with the translation at the end. Yes, a dozen yellow roses means awful things in Russian culture, but that will be explained in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, thanks you guys for caring about this story. It means a lot. Wednesday I start a new year of teaching, my first while taking grad school classes. But I love this story and it's characters. My goal is to have this story (currently four more chapters left) finished by Christmas. Thanks for sticking with me.


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